Jumping off the kitchen bench, I wash my hands, noting how despite offering to help, a small furrow forms between her brows, her movements more hurried than usual.
Is she stress cooking?
Drew used to do the same thing. You could tell when he was cooking because he wanted to or when he was doing it to take his mind off something because his hands were frantic, his cuts and slices heavier.
“Are you okay?” I ask quietly, coming up beside her and taking the potatoes and peeler she hands me.
Her shoulders tighten. “Why do you ask?”
“I don’t mean to pry, you just seem to be in a hurry.”
Her shoulders drop on a deep exhale. “I’m sorry, I actually do need to be out of here a little early. I was hoping to have most of my work for the day done by three.”
It’s outrageous of me to be disappointed that the first available afternoon I have off she can’t be here, and yet I am. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say the sudden heartburn racing up my chest is because of it.
“That’s all right. How come you have to leave?”
“No reason.”
The peeler slips from my hand. A layer of potato skin flies across the bench and lands on the marble counter with a wet slap.
She’s being cagey.
Is she…going on a date?
The thought makes my chest tighten to the point I have to put the peeler down and gulp water to try and ease my now clammy skin. Bella busies herself with slicing into meat, her playlist drifting from her phone beside her.
I’m grateful she’s distracted so she can’t see how much this affects me, but I’m also concerned that she’s so distracted because she’s thinking about her date tonight.
Am I being ridiculous?
I’m certain I am and yet the tightness in my chest, the hot burning sensation beneath my skin…am Ijealous?
Of an imaginary date?
I thought the puck bunny question last week after the game meant she wasn’t seeing anyone either. Perhaps I’m jealous for the same reasons she asked about puck bunnies—I don’t want people to think I’m being cheated on.
Yet a small, teeny tiny voice in my mind knows that isn’t the case.
“Big plans tonight?” I can’t help but ask.
Moving the meat onto a sizzling pan, she looks at me over her shoulder. “Not really. Do you?”
Moving onto the vegetables she left out for me to chop, I shake my head.
I was hoping she would be my Monday night plans, that I could finally eat dinner with her in the same room and ask more questions under the guise of needing to get to know her for the arrangement.
I shouldn’t be disappointed. I have no right to be disappointed.
Passing her the chopped vegetables, I listen to the soft sound of her voice singing to the music playing throughout the kitchen. With nothing left to do, I move to a stool, knowing I look like a creeper just sitting here watching her, and yet I can’t help myself.
She holds out a bag of gummy bears to me. “Want one?”
Taking a handful, I offer my thanks, noting how she only takes a red and yellow gummy. “Are you free next Saturday?”
Her gaze moves to the schedule she put up on the fridge. “During the day?”
More night plans?
