Chapter 8 - Zoe
Fragrant onions and garlic filled the space as I stood over the stovetop and pushed the sizzling aromatics around in the pan. I hummed to myself absently as I got lost in thought before adding the cubed chicken breast and tossing it back and forth.
Alone in Ezra's house, with music playing quietly in the background, I was beginning to feel a bit more comfortable in the space, but mostly while he was away at work or hanging out with the others.
The house was nice and felt familiar to me despite that being a bittersweet detail. I knew my way around, and it was pretty cozy despite Ezra not seeming like that type of person.
Despite being in a small town, his house was quite the build, and it certainly reflected his wealth in subtle ways. While the place was big, with vaulted ceilings, clean floors and finishings, he prioritized comfort over flashiness, and it only made the house more appealing.
Staying in his place was easy—I existed in the space and found my routine in it. But being near him was still difficult.
Knowing we were in relative proximity of each other, going about our day, all while being aware of how weird the situation was despite not saying anything about it.
I often wondered if I had made a mistake by agreeing to it. Honestly, I didn't need to accept. I could've left him to flounder and deal with his parents alone—I likely should've—but for whatever reason, I couldn't bring myself to ignore that desperation he had worn before.
Despite seeming indifferent and acting fine with pretending, it still hurt. It almost felt like being forced to confront it all at once without talking about it or getting any real closure.
Being in his space, parading around like I was his fiancée, and trying to avoid those old feelings of mine was a lot to take on, especially after everything that happened.
It took a lot more willpower to keep those emotions at bay, especially whenever I was face-to-face with him.
Still, it made me question what I was even doing there in the first place.
As the chicken cooked in the pan, I watched it, pushing it around and smelling it before I worked on the next part of the dish.
Despite being lost in thought while I cooked, I found myself in a decent mood anyway, eventually thinking about the gym and how well it seemed to be going.
Before long, Ezra's presence stirred me from my stupor as he stepped into the kitchen and reminded me that I wasn't alone anymore. I was still getting used to the idea of not being in my own home.
Pulling his phone and keys from his pockets, Ezra looked at me curiously and placed them on the closest counter. His brows furrowed slightly.
"What are you doing?"
Turning the chicken off, I focused on the other food, wondering what had possibly irritated him already.
"Cooking," I said plainly.
He wore a vaguely concerned look, but the annoyance overshadowed it. "You shouldn't feel obligated to cook just because you're here."
Something about his hovering and strange need to act like I was going out of my way irritated me.
"Okay, but I was hungry and figured I'd just make us dinner. That sort of requires cooking."
Ezra scoffed. "But you don't have to. We could've ordered in or something."
My brows pinched together at him in disbelief. "It really doesn't matter. I don't mind cooking."
He rolled his eyes, not letting it go, and that only stoked my anger all over again. He was being ridiculous for no reason, and right when I was in a good mood, too.
I followed his movements as he continued through the kitchen. It was my turn to scoff. "What?"
"Nothing," he muttered, but it was just him being difficult. "Forget it."
While I was tempted to ignore him, it was hard to do so after seeing how easily he got annoyed over nothing at all. Instead, I leaned against the counter, my features tight with irritation. "I didn't realize it was a crime to cook in your kitchen. My bad."
Ezra glanced over at me, unimpressed. "Oh, come on, don't be obtuse."
I lifted my brows incredulously. "Me—obtuse? Says the one who just got pissed off because someone wanted to do something nice for you!"
"Exactly!" he snapped, turning to face me fully. "Which you didn't have to—I didn't ask you to."
I groaned, feeling like we were only going in circles. "This is so ridiculous. What is possibly wrong with me cooking?"
He ran a hand through his hair, looking aggravated. "The cooking isn't the problem...it's you feeling obligated to do this—to feed me even though you don't need to."
Still confused about why that was an issue, I huffed out a breath. "There is no obligation! Why the hell are you getting so worked up over this?"
But instead of giving me a proper answer, Ezra just grounded his teeth together and grumbled to himself. "Obviously, you don't get it."
I blinked back at him, stunned as to why we were even fighting at all. "Obviously not! You're being difficult for no reason."
"I am? Oh, of course, you'd think so. Because everything is my fault."
Something about that comment struck a chord in me, catching me off-guard. Not only was the statement true despite his sarcasm, but I could also sense the argument leaving silly territory and heading into a more serious one.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I bristled. "You're not wrong. Several things can be exclusively blamed on you."
Ezra's brows furrowed at that, growing angrier. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Blood boiling, I snapped back, "Do you really need me to say it?"
He seemed almost surprised by my words, and for a moment, I could've sworn he was considering what I said. But that brief thoughtfulness vanished, and his anger replaced it. "Watch your tone."
I rolled my eyes at that. "I'm sure you already know this, but you're in no position to tell me what to do. Not when you're the one who needs me for this stupid plan."
Ezra, visibly angry, took a step forward. "So what? Now you're going to hold this over my head, too?"
My face twisted with more irritation, quickly recalling how much pain he caused me from his decision-making alone. "And why wouldn't I? You deserve it."
"Why? Because I wanted to help you get away from Rory?"
"This is more for you than it is for me," I muttered, feeling myself growing more tense as the confrontation lingered. "You just used that as an excuse to rope me into this."
Ezra looked back at me for a moment, somewhat flustered, as he worked out his words. "You just don't want to admit that you needed help!"
I glared at him. "Then how come one of our situations is a lot more dire than the other, hm? Do you really think I wouldn't have survived Rory's flirting—or anyone else?"
Even if I was right, Ezra's anger and refusal to accept it grew. I knew he'd never admit it.
"God, you're being impossible."
My anger flared. "And so are you!"
Everything about it was absurd: senseless fighting, unable to see the other's point of view, and falling into our old ways—the exact behavior everyone expected of us.
Still, we were both stubborn, and there was no way either of us would back down.