“No, nobody ever taught me, and now I live on my own. I could probably learn from YouTube or something,” Ethan replies.
“Come over at six? We’ll cook together, and that way, you can make it for yourself one day.”
The smile I get this time is warm and fond. I feel good about being able to return the favour and teach him something as well. Like we’re on an even footing now.
It took all of half an hour after returning home for the nerves to set in. After washing all the salt water off in the shower, I tried to tame the mop on my head, but it was a lost cause. A stray ginger curl keeps falling into my eye.
I’m wearing a pair of faded black jeans and a Linkin Park t-shirt I stole from Noah. It’s a bit more emo than my usual style, but the alternative was looking like a forty-year-old mini-van owner.
The kitchen dining area is open-plan, so I put the TV on for some background noise. And also, so it doesn't seem like I’ve been sitting around in silence waiting for Ethan to show up.
What if I read this all wrong? I felt really sure when we were in the water this afternoon. He seemed interested. He asked me if I was dating anyone? I’m pretty sure you don’t ask people that out of the blue unless you have a vested interest in the answer.
But Ethan is chatty. He’s a chatty little American who probably doesn’t overthink every single question that comes out of his mouth. God, what if that was just his idea of small talk, and he was too polite to say no to my offer?
The apartment buzzer interrupts my spiralling thoughts. I press the button to let him up and then count to three, taking a deep breath in and letting it back out again.
Be cool for once in your life.
Another deep breath, and I open the front door.
Oh shit. I hadn’t mentally prepared myself for seeing Ethan in normal clothes. He’s wearing a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up. My eyes track the slightly raised veins that travel along his forearms to the backs of his smooth tanned hands.
“Hi,” I manage to spit out.
“I brought beer,” he says, lifting a six-pack into the air. “I know you aren’t technically old enough to drink here, but I figured you probably drank back home, so I brought some anyway.”
“Oh. Thanks. You didn’t have to. But yeah. I drink.” He’s looking at me expectantly, and I realise I’m blocking him from coming inside.
Jesus take the wheel.
“Sorry. Come in,” I say, finally stepping out of his way.
He follows me into the kitchen, and I stick the beers in the fridge but leave two out because I’m going to need some liquid courage to form coherent sentences, apparently.
“You’re staying here with your cousin, did you say?”
“Kind of. He’s off visiting a coven somewhere near Portland. He pops in from time to time, but I’m not expecting him back for a few more days,” I explain. Ethan’s eyes widen in alarm.
“What?! He can’t go there. It’s not safe. Fuck, I don’t mean to freak you out, but they’ve killed shifters for trespassing before!” His words make me a bit uneasy, but Noah had already warned me these particular witches were ‘anti-wolf’ as he put it.
“My cousin, Noah, he’s a witch. I probably should have led with that. He knows they don’t like wolves but there’s literally no telling Noah what to do. He has a pretty foolproof exit strategy, so I’m not too worried.”
Ethan’s shoulders sag in relief. “Sorry. I assumed he was a shifter and panicked.” He smiles ruefully. I grab a bottle opener and flick the caps off two beers before handing one to Ethan. “So, what’s on the menu, Chef?”
“Goin’ for a simple but a classic. Steak and chips. Or steak and fries? That good with you?”
“Very good with me! I apologise in advance if I propose to you.” I roll my eyes and laugh. That’s flirting, right? I can’t have got this completely wrong.
“Okay, Sous Chef, let's get cookin’.” I grab the steaks from the fridge and leave them on the counter while we begin prepping the potatoes.
“Who taught you to cook?” Ethan asks while massacering a potato with a peeler. It’s painful to watch, but I don’t want to micromanage.
“My mum and da. More so my mum because my da is the Alpha of our pack, and he’s always being pulled in every direction. My mum is…wasfierce, though, and used to say she was nobody’s personal chef. Our house is always filled with people, so we tend to take it in turns to cook giant batches of food. I cook practically a vat of chilli every week.”
“That sounds nice,” Ethan replies, passing me a somewhat peeled potato to cut into fries. “Our pack is kind of disjointed. A new Alpha took over around five years ago, and the culture gradually changed. It’s partly why I don’t live up on the land anymore. I run with them from time to time, and I have friends in the pack, but mostly I keep to myself.”
Sounds lonely, I can’t help but think.
