Page 32 of White Room Virgin

“Hello!” he said, placing the bag on one of the chairs.

I immediately bundled the sketches lying around into a pile and placed them on the magazines.

“I forgot something,” he said, disappearing into his room. A moment later he came back and stowed a book in his bag. “So I thought I might as well eat here. Are you joining me?” He stood at the fridge, looking at me with a smile so sweet it warmed my heart.

If he can be normal, so can I.

“Um … yes, I could eat something.”

Stay cool!

“My cooking skills are modest,” Jonah explained and stroked his hair mischievously. “But how about … an omelet?”

“That sounds good. Do you want me to help you with anything?”

“You can set the table,” he said and retrieved eggs, ham, and tomatoes out of the fridge.

He seemed so sure of himself. I didn’t know him like that. And I hadn’t known he could cook either.

“I’ll return the favor as soon as I master an edible dish,” I said and grabbed two plates from the cupboard. When I turned around, Jonah suddenly stood in front of me. He immediately took a step back and raised his hands.

“Oh … I’m sorry. I just wanted to get a bowl.” He let me pass and went to the closet. I leaned back in my seat so as not to be in his way.

“Don’t you ever cook?” he asked, returning to the kitchen counter.

Watching him crack the eggs was proof enough that this was by no means his first time cooking. He cracked them almost casually with one hand, and as he swung the whisk, I realized it wasn’t his cooking skills that were modest, but him.

“I’m not that …” I tried to pick up the conversation again.

What was he asking again?

“I’m not that demanding when it comes to food.”

“Oh, okay, then I’m glad.”

I laughed. The fact that he also tried to maintain normality between us reassured me. Of course, we would have to talk about what had happened at some point, but not today. I was also glad that he was the one cooking. Even though I couldn’t stop myself from looking at Jonah all the time, and he would surely notice sooner or later, at least I wasn’t making a fool of myself in the kitchen. While he poured the egg mixture into two different pans, I got cutlery and filled two glasses with water on the table. I found some leftover bread in the bread bin, which I cut into slices and put in a basket on the table. Jonah retreated with two plates and placed my omelet in front of me, which couldn’t have looked more professional. He had even found some parsley and sprinkled it on top.

“It looks like something you’d find in a fancy restaurant.”

Jonah laughed and put some pepper and salt on the table. “I doubt that.” He glanced at me and raised his eyebrows. “Have you ever been to a fancy restaurant?”

I would have liked to respondmore than once, but the truth hurt too much, so I simply grimaced. “Thank you for the food.”

“Bon appétit!” he said and got started without further ado.

There’s probably no time for a prayer,I thought with a quick glance at the clock. It all seemed totally surreal to me. Not even the silence at the table felt uncomfortable but somehow familiar. Trying not to show my irritation or growing joy, I ate the delicious omelet.

“What are you working on right now?” Jonah asked out of the blue.

I followed his gaze to my sketches. “I’m working on a term paper.”

“And what’s the assignment?”

I regarded him with a hint of suspicion. So far, he hadn’t shown much interest in my art. Or at least he hadn’t shown it to me. In fact, Martin was the reason why he had been at the last two openings. “It … is supposed to be a critical examination of migration.”

“And how are you getting on?”

I stopped with my fork halfway to my mouth and frowned.

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