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“Whit’s been calling you ‘The Casserole Queen,’” he said, coming up beside me.

His tone was light, and I was grateful for that.

After a handful of tension-filled interactions earlier in the month, the awkwardness had started to ebb, and it was like the shoulder massage had never even happened.

Erased. Poof.

It was for the best.

Whitney sat out on the deck with a glass of wine, chatting with Tara, after I’d volunteered to make dinner. It was our routine. I’d make dinner and take on as many chores as I could, while Whitney opened her home and her heart to me.

I had a lot of catching up to do if I wanted to even the score.

Glancing at Reed, I trained my eyes not to linger. Lingering too long always led to heavy eye contact and a slow-build of anticipation that had the ability to swallow me up in one greedy gulp. “Thanks. You know I love it.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t made perogies yet.”

My fingers tightened around the wooden spoon and my heart kicked up speed. I feigned nonchalance. “You remember that?”

“Sure. The mother of your still-Polish, not-deceased mother would make them every Christmas Eve.”

My wide eyes panned over to him and I almost dropped the spoon.

He remembered the entirety of my awkward, rambling spiel as we’d rolled our carts through a busy grocery store on a blustery holiday evening, and that did something dangerous to my heart.

Swallowing down the knot, I forced a weird-sounding laugh. “Good memory.”

Reed smiled as he hopped up on the countertop next to me. He was wearing a band tee, and it was the same color as his dark hair that had grown out and was close to teasing the collar. There was a logo scrawled across the front, so I latched onto the easy subject change.

“What band is that?” I nodded at his chest.

He peered down at the logo. “Screaming Trees.”

“I don’t know them.”

“They’re a little harder than the Gin Blossoms, but you might like them.”

“I’ve been on a Toad the Wet Sprocket kick lately,” I confessed, sprinkling taco seasoning into the meat concoction. “All I Want is my favorite song.”

“You have a lot of favorite songs.” He smiled again, his eyes softening with a sentiment I refused to agonize over.

A line in one of their songs talked about the air speaking of all we’d never be.

I refused to agonize over that, too.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Reed continued, swinging his legs. The heels of his boots bumped the lower cabinet with each movement. Tap, tap, tap. “You good?”

I glanced over at him.

Then I made the grave mistake of lingering too long.

The look in his eyes was still there, burning heavily into mine. Electricity churned between us with nowhere to go. I wasn’t sure if he felt it, too, but I supposed it didn’t matter. “Sure,” I said softly. “I’ve just been busy with school, and…”

Tap, tap, tap.

I didn’t know if it was my pounding heart or the cabinets thudding against his boots.

“And what?” he probed.

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