TWENTY-THREE
The many tasks at work are a welcomed distraction after a weekend that seemed so long.
Walking down the hallway, I glimpse a delivery guy leaving my office. I enter and find a takeout bag from my favorite food shop. The handwritten French words on the front confirm it’s from Kross.
Tu me voulais à Paris
“ You wanted me in Paris ,” I translate in a murmur. “This man.” Sitting down, I open the bag to check the contents. My lips naturally curl upward at the plastic container with chocolate chip cookies.
I bite into one, moaning while chewing. It’s moist. The sweetness is just right. Not overwhelming. Kross did a great job.
Feeling mushy inside, I call him before eating the veggie rice and brown stew tofu.
“You got your lunch?” he asks as he answers.
“Mmhm. You didn’t have to do that.”
“You said you wanted to try my cookies. I figured I’d send you some with your favorite food.”
“Thank you.” I pause before asking, “Why did you mention Paris? You promised not to bring it up.”
“I promised it’d be a secret between us,” he clarifies. “I’d like to do that again in person.”
“Kross…” I bite my lip, fighting back the yearning. “I’m still in a relationship.”
“Why?” he rasps. “What’s tying you to him? Tell me you love him deeply. Say every moment with me was a mistake. If you can tell me that, I’ll leave you alone.”
I fall quiet, unable to respond to any of what he said.
“Exactly,” he drones, followed by a snort. “You know, I could make it easy for you and send him cookies with my name on it.”
“Don’t. I have to go.”
“Hang on,” he stops me. “Come to the club tonight to have a drink with me.”
“Kross, I’m not sure if—”
“Come chill with me,” he insists. “You want to.”
Losing to the overwhelming force, I tell him, “Fine.”
“Thank you.” The extra smoothness in his tone convinces me he’s grinning. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“You too.”
As I get off the phone, Iree turns into my office. “Ooh!” She snatches up a cookie, creasing her forehead while she chews. “These taste like Mama G’s.”
“They’re from Kross,” I admit coolly before eating a forkful of rice and tofu.
Her eyes twitch, and she angles her head. “Why is he sending you cookies? Did he send the food, too?”
“He’s only being nice.”
“He’s never sent me lunch.” She shifts her weight to one side. “I heard you went to the youth center on Saturday. Y’all seem to be doing stuff together.”
“It’s all friendly,” I insist, even though it isn’t. Kross made it clear we can no longer be just that.
“Right. You’re in a relationship.” She leaves me with the reminder and her half-eaten cookie.
Despite the little voice warning me to stay away from Kross, I’m already thinking about the dress to wear to the club tonight.