She rolls her eyes, shifting a bit. “Not to change the subject, but I think my legs are numb.” The awkward grin on her face brings a genuine smile to mine.
Blood flow restored, Toni walks toward the living room. “Come on.” She waves for me to follow.
“For what?” I ask.
“You need to eat.”
I follow, not because I agree, but because I don’t want her out of my sight. Despite my dismissive words earlier, the thought of her being away from me right now makes the ground shift beneath my feet, not unlike the moment I saw her outside the safety of the car when I walked out of Joey’s house.
“I don’t have much of an appetite,” I say, needing to focus on anything other than Joey.
“Too bad.” She opens the fridge, studying the contents. “I’m Southern. My impulse in these situations is to cook...something.”
For a moment, I’m entranced, watching her pull things out. “No offense, but I’ve never so much as seen you turn the stove on, doll.” My thigh cramps angrily, informing me that I would be paying for having my breakdown on the floor rather than someplace more sensible. I pull out one of the old dining chairs, stretching my leg out in front of me.
“Liar.”
“Oh?”
“I turned the stove on when we cooked together a couple of weeks ago. Not that you let me do anything more than that.” I raise a brow at her. “I can cook,” she says. I can’t restrain the way her heavy emphasis on ‘can’ brings out that Texas twang in her voice. “When the spirit moves me.”
“And the spirit is moving you in the direction of?”
“Chili?” she asks.
“Sounds great.”
As Toni cobbles together our meal from whatever is in my kitchen, we chat about small things. She tells me how she learned to cook from watching her mom in the kitchen. I tell stories about my own mother teaching Michael and me to cook, because she didn’t want her boys to be as useless as her brothers.
For a precious couple of hours, it feels like there is no world outside of this bubble. No painful memories. No grief. Just warm light, good food, and this woman.
“That was very good,” I say. “I’m pleasantly surprised.”
Toni glares at me. “I feel like that was meant to be a compliment.” She stands, gathering her bowl and reaching for mine.
I grin, stopping her from taking my bowl and pluck her’s from her hand. “It was.” Grabbing her by the hips, I pull her closer. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she says, kissing my forehead.
“But, since you cooked, you’re not allowed to do the dishes. House rules.” I scoot away from her, bracing myself on the heavy wooden table as I stand.
“House rules my ass,” she scoffs. She yanks her dishes back from me. “You never let me do dishes when you cook.”
“Guests aren’t allowed to do dishes either.” I try to take the bowl back. “Hey, I don’t make the rules.”
“This is quite literally your house.”
“Technically, it’s my?—”
“Uncle’s. Don’t blame him.” She tries to pull it free from me, but we’re in a standoff. “Ugh!”
“Did you just stomp your foot at me?” I chuckle.
“Maybe.” She pulls at the bowl. I smirk, pulling the bowl up until she’s forced to release it. “You’re being so difficult!”
I grip her chin with my free hand, kissing her pursed lips. “Now you know how it feels.”
Her jaw drops open with an offended gasp.
