“No heat,” I mutter around my mouthful. “No more heat, never ever.”
A frown tugs at his mouth, knits his brow. “Why’s it so hot in your apartment? Is your AC not working?”
I shake my head. “Property manager is on it, though.”
Hopefully.
“Will you and the dog be okay, staying there?” he asks. “While you’re waiting for it to be fixed? Sounded like you were pretty miserable there, earlier.”
“I was exaggerating about poaching in my own skin. I’ll be fine. So will Argos. I have a giant box fan that keeps the air moving.”
He narrows his eyes. “You sure?”
“Mm-hmm.” I scoop up the last delicious bite, chew, and swallow. Then I tell him, “Thank you again, for the lasagna—that was incredible. So weird. I feel human now.”
“Very weird,” he says, “how eatingrealfood does that to you.”
I’m not taking the Jif bait. “Where can I wash this?”
“You can’t.” He pushes off the prep table he’s been leaning on and takes the container.
I watch him drop it in the cooler at the end of the table, thencross the kitchen. He disappears into a walk-in fridge, then remerges with two giant bowls of gelato.
My throat thickens. I will not cry. “You didn’tactuallyhave to give me all six flavors.”
He sets a spoon in each bowl and hands me mine. “I think we can agree it’s been a six-flavors kind of week.”
“Truth,” I tell him. “So Alexander, want to talk about your terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day? Week,” I amend. “I had to, though, because of the book. You familiar?”
His gaze narrows. “I hate that book.”
I gasp. “Why?”Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Daywas a childhood favorite. I work it into the rotation every year at The Bookshop’s StoryTime.
“Because,” he tells me, “my dad always says it when I’m in a pissy mood—Uh-oh, Alexander’s having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day!”
I bite my lip. “I think I’d really like your dad.”
“Oh, I know you will,” he says.
“?‘Will?’?” I ask.
Alex looks my way. “My family is inescapable. If we’re going to be friends, you’ll meet them sooner rather than later…” He clears his throat and glances down at his gelato, scooping up a spoonful. “Maybe you’ve changed your mind about that, though. I shouldn’t assume.”
“I was going to say the same thing to you.”
Alex frowns, peering up at me. “What?”
“You told me you had a bad week, and all you’ve done since then is take care of me.” I glance down at my gelato, poking around it. “I don’t want to have an imbalanced friendship.”
“Hey.” Alex settles on the table beside me. “We won’t.”
I give him a flat look. “What have I brought to this friendship so far?”
“Humor,” he says. He sets down his gelato and extends one finger, then another, when he says, “Empathy. An equal fervor for gorging on gelato.”
Argos whines outside the door.
Alex gives me a sidelong glance. “A needy dog.”