“Cooking. Taking care of shit.”
“It's just pasta, Kade.”
“Still.”
I shook my head, but I was smiling too. The pasta was done, so I tossed it into the pan with the chicken and vegetables, mixing the jar Alfredo sauce. The smell was incredible. “Alright,” I said, plating the food. “Try it.” He took a bite, chewing slowly, and I watched his face. “Well?” I asked.
“It’s good.”
“Just good?”
“Really good.”
“Better.”
He grinned. “You want me to say it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted?”
“I mean, if you’re being honest…”
“It’s fire, Storm. Happy?”
“Very.” We ate standing at the counter, side by side, and it felt normal, like we’d been doing this for years. Well, we had but nothing like this. It was intimate.
“Real shit,” Kade said after a while, “I could get used to this.”
“To what? Me cooking for you?”
“To us. Like this.”
I looked at him, and his expression was serious. Not soft. Not sappy. Just... real. “Me too.”
We were cleaning up the dishes when I remembered Stormie’s car was still sitting on Route 47. Between finally expressing my feelings and making her cum over and over again, it slipped my mind.
She was scrubbing a plate when I dried my hands and whipped out my phone. Her eyebrow raised instantly. “What’s wrong?”
“Your car,” I reminded her, scrolling through my contacts until I got to the right one. “I told you I’d handle it.”
“Kade, it’s…”
My boy Malcolm picked up on the second ring. “What up, nigga?”
“Shit. I need a favor.”
“What’s the word?”
“Got a car on Route 47 that needs to be towed. Silver Honda. Broke down yesterday.”
“Damn. Route 47? That’s out past–”
“Yeah, I know. Can you grab it?”
“When?”
“ASAP,” I told him, glancing over at Stormie, wiping down the counter with an attitude. I ignored it.
“Today? Bro, it’s Sunday.” Malcolm complained.
“I know what day it is. Can you do it or nah?”