“I never called you my boyfriend.”
He laughs lightly. “Ez. You said I’m the love of your life. What are people supposed to think?”
I huff, but he’s not wrong. We knew this is how it would go. I set the tablet down, not in the mood to think about the media and their assumptions. The timer dinging has me jumping to my feet.
Grayson watches on in amusement as I pull the meringue from the oven. It looks…
“Holy shit,” I say excitedly. “I think we did it.”
“Congrats, chef.”
“This was ninety percent you,” I point out. “Mine have always turned out flat.”
The meringue is absolutely perfect, the top ever so slightly golden, the baked egg whites holding their shape. I use a spatula to slip it carefully onto a plate.
Grayson lets out a curious sound. “Why meringue?”
“Remember that time in Chicago? When we filmed there, oh…too many years ago to count. It was shortly after we met.”
He’s silent for only a second, thinking. “The restaurant we visited before we left. They had honey meringue.”
“Yep,” I say, setting the empty sheet pan aside. “It wassofucking good. Do you remember it?”
“I do now.”
Grayson opens the cupboard next to the fridge and grabs a jar of honey from inside. My chest feels tight as he drizzles the honey over the top of the meringue. The one at the restaurant looked far fancier, but this is perfect. More than.
“That was the night you told me you thought you were ace,” I say gently, grabbing two forks from the drawer. “It was like a dam had burst, and you couldn’t stop talking about it. I remember sitting with you in our hotel room and just feeling…”
Grayson’s voice is quiet. “Feeling what?”
“So much love. God, I loved you even then.”
He smiles softly. “What did I say? Such a sap.”
I can’t refute it.
Grayson joins me on the stools in front of the counter. “Go on. Try it.”
Exhaling, I press my fork against the meringue. It breaks apart just as it should. I bring a piece to my mouth, chewing slowly, the honey warmed from the freshly baked meringue.
“Fuck,” I mumble.
With a chuckle, Grayson cuts off his own piece. We eat the entire meringue in silence, the texture perfectly airy and crisp. The honey adds just the right amount of sweetness.
I hum happily once we’re done. “That’s one item checked off my bucket list. The perfect meringue.”
Grayson sets the empty plate and our forks in the sink for later, and we head toward the hall. “What else is on your list?”
“Not sure yet,” I admit. “But I have time to figure it out. Isn’t that what you told me?”
We stop outside Grayson’s bedroom, his clear blue eyes holding my own. “Yeah, Ez. We have plenty of time.”
I can’t quite resist tugging him close to kiss his temple. “Night, Gray.”
I’ve only taken two steps toward my room when Grayson’s voice halts me. “Ez? Would you stay tonight?”
“Of course,” I answer, quickly retracing my steps.
