Page 68 of All of You

I didn’t discuss my parents, not ever. Ben knew the basics, but I didn’t want them to have more of my life than they already had.

“You mom was…”

I dumped a container of tomato soup into a pot on the stove and turned on the burner. “She was very specific about how we ate, even when I was young. It was all very healthy, very measured. I only remember having pizza a handful of times in my childhood, and never at my own house.”

“That’s just… hard to imagine. I feel like I was thirty percent pizza growing up, just based on the sheer volume I consumed at any given point.”

A laugh cracked out. “That’s a lot of pizza.”

“I bet it was overwhelming to go to Juilliard and have so many options,” he said, leaning his elbows on the counter.

He had no idea.

“It was. I gained ten pounds the first month, then lost fifteen… I had no idea how to manage myself. I’d literally been spoon fed, never had a choice about what I ate. It was almost a relief to hire Kendra to make my meal plans and make those decisions for me. Of course, she’s much more interested in my overall health and less concerned with my physical appearance, though of course, that’s her job too. But I trust her, and I feel good when I stick with her plans.”

He started to speak, then stopped himself. I gave him a questioning look, and he grinned, then spat it out. “Do you wish you didn’t have to worry about it?”

“I don’t worry about it anymore, but I did have anxiety related to food, particularly when I first left home. I had anxiety related to a lot of things. As crazy as it sounds, I am so much less anxious now than I was then—even with the paparazzi and invasions of privacy and never knowing how my music will be received.”

I set the buttery sides of our sandwiches down on the griddle, and they sizzled deliciously.

“Why, do you think?”

“Because I knew that path—the path my parents set me on—wasn’t mine. It was theirs. And I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with wanting what your parents want for you, but for me, I’d had to suppress so much of me, even to the point of feeling ashamed that I wanted something else. Once I let that go and took the leap, it was better. It’s easy to say now, of course, but I think even if I hadn’t won, if I’d just ended up slugging it out at bars and honky tonks in town, I’d have been happier than I was before.”

I heard him slide his chair back from the bar, but went about my business lifting the edge of the bread to see if it was toasting up right. When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw him leaning against the counter next to me.

“I’m glad. I know it has caused a rift between you and your family, but I’m glad you feel so sure you’re where you want to be.” He eyed the griddle and seemed mesmerized.

“What are you thinking?” I asked as he stared wide-eyed and entranced by the melting cheese.

He broke from his daze and looked up at me with an odd look. His voice was small and unsure as he said, “I was just thinking, I didn’t expect you would cook.”

I barked a laugh, not expecting all that staring and intensity to be rooted in my cooking skills. “Well you’re mostly right. My cooking extends about as far as you can go on a hot plate. Beyond that, it’s the barest minimum, or someone else makes it.”

“Well, you seem to have grilled cheese down.”

I flipped the sandwiches and stirred the soup, then turned off the burner. Nothing worse than a scalded tongue.

“That I do. I won’t be modest—my grilled cheese is the stuff of dreams. It’s why it’s my first and favorite cheat.”

I collected plates, napkins, bowls, and spoons, then dipped out soup into each bowl. After a quick check of the sandwiches that showed they were—as I suspected—perfect, I pulled those to my wooden cutting board, sliced them diagonally, and set them on the plates. I dropped a dollop of unsweetened whipped cream and some fresh chives over the soup, and voilà.

“Go sit,” I demanded while wiping my hands on a towel and then delivering the two plates with bowls and sandwiches to our seats at the counter.

For a few moments, the only sounds in the kitchen were the crisp bites into buttery, toasted bread, my completely indelicate groan of appreciation at the flavor of the melted cheese and bread combination, and Ben’s unsubtle snickers as he devoured his food.

“I didn’t think I was hungry,” he said as he sat back and set a hand on his abdomen. “But that was perfect.”

A sigh of satisfaction drifted out. “It was.”

We cleaned up the kitchen together and moved to the living room. There was nothing like snuggling up on the couch with a fire after a long day, and I’d been looking forward to curling up with this handsome man all day. I’d been worried sick while he was gone, but finding Bec had taken no time at all, and he was back.

We settled into the corner of the large couch and he pulled me close, one arm around me. We sat and watched the fire I’d built just to have something to do when he’d left flicker and jump in the stone hearth.

Part of me still felt jittery, like I was the one who needed calming. Maybe I knew that was a warning sign—that my upset on his behalf was a signal my heart had gotten involved and there was no going back. I’d certainly felt nothing for Jamie other than mild, human-decency-level concern when his family member had gotten sick and he’d had to fly home toward the end of our time dating.

Which reminded me.

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