Page 50 of The Things That Hold Us

“Are you in there?” he says, interrupting my thoughts.

“Oh. Sorry. No, you can stay, if you want. I’m just going to get him all set up, then I can order in food or something?”

“That sounds good.”

I smile at him, then we move into the living room.

I get all of Pudding's things out of the bag, and for a split second feel slightly overwhelmed with everything.

But once I start putting things away, and get his bed set up, it's not that much.

I’m putting his cage together, when I smell something coming from the kitchen. I pause, trying to figure it out, then decide to go investigate.

“Logan?”

“Yes, Charlie?”

“What are you doing?” I laugh as I come around the corner and see him standing in front of my stove.

“Well, you said you were going to order in food, and considering there’s still take out containers on your coffee table, I figuredyou'd enjoy a real meal.” he says, turning to look at me with that smile on his face. Then he adds, “I hope this is ok?”

I blush, hating that I forgot to clean up after myself. “Yeah, no, it's perfect. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. You didn't have much, so I just made some pasta and chicken.”

“That sounds perfect.” I smile up at him, and feel that electricity spark inside me as our eyes meet.

This might have been a bad idea.

He clears his throat, looking away, “Uh, yeah. So pasta and chicken. I saw wine in your fridge, and thought this would go nicely with it.”

“Right, ok.” I grab the wine, and a couple of glasses, then grab some plates and put them on the table.

“This all smells delicious. Do you cook a lot?” I ask him, just trying to make some conversation, and get to know him a little bit.

This man is essentially still a stranger, but I feel completely comfortable with him.

“Yeah. I used to cook all the time, and then I was deployed. I still cooked there, but you don’t get a lot of variety.”

I nod, trying to understand what it must've been like over there. I can't even imagine. I watch his dog tags swing against his chest. He must've seen horrible things over there.

“I told myself if I made it home, I’d cook every chance I got.” he looks over at me and smiles, “Then I saw the takeout and couldn't let you eat that crap for the second time today.”

I sit at the table, watching him work.

He knows his way around a kitchen, and it's unnecessarily attractive.

He catches me watching him, and I quickly look away.

I watch a smirk spread on his face, and instantly feel embarrassed that he caught me watching him.

“This will be ready in a minute.” he says, as he tosses in ingredients I didn’t know I had.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask as I hand him his glass of whine, knowing there probably isn't because the only things I can cook are either microwave foods, or things you just stick in the oven.

“No, I’ve got it. You just relax.”

“Are you sure?”

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