Page 53 of Bookworm
“Why didn’t you text me?”
After a pause, he responded, “I… guess I didn’t know I needed to.”
“How did you even get in here!?”
“I have your spare key.”
I blinked at him. “What an insane violation of my privacy.”
His brows rose. “I was going more for ‘sweet grand gesture.”
I set my bag down on the coffee table and paused to pet Jules and Verne before crossing to Adam, leaning over his shoulder to see what he was cooking.
“Does this mean you’re done marinating?”
His brow scrunched. “Marinating? Like steak?” Confused, he blinked down at the pot of noodles, which I had to admit smelled divine. “This isramen. Nothing needed to marinate?—”
“No,you. Areyoudone marinating? You know. Done like, thinking about this morning and giving me the silent treatment.”
He set the spatula down on a porcelain spoon rest thing that I didn’t even realize this apartment had, then turned to look me in the eyes. “I wasn’t giving you the silent treatment.”
“You didn’t come by the rare books room. Or text me all day.”
He tilted his head. “I popped by the rare books room on my way out, but you weren’t there.”
“What time was that?”
“I don’t know. Around 5?”
We must have just missed each other. It was a big school. Totally conceivable that he’d taken a different route from his classroom to the library just as I’d left to find him.
“And you didn’t text,” I repeated.
He shrugged. “I figured you’d be home soon. Or that you’d stepped out to grab a coffee while ink dried or whatever. I didn’t think I needed to text you.”
I searched his face for any hint of deception. “I actually went looking for you at five,” I said honestly. “I looked in your classroom, knocked on your office door. I even poked my head into the faculty dining hall which I didn’t even know existed.”
I waited, my held breath burning my lungs, waiting to see if he reacted at all to the dining hall comment. Did he know Jasmine and his father saw each other? Had he been there grabbing coffee with them just before I poked my head in?
But just like before, his expression remained passive. Like he had nothing to hide.
If I was braver, I would have just asked him about it. Come right out and asked why his dad was sitting across a small table having coffee with Jasmine.
But Iwasn’tbrave.
Especially when it came to his father.
I was a coward.
I took a deep breath to momentarily gather my thoughts, but I was distracted by the immediate delicious smell of spices, onion, and…
“Is that peanut butter I smell?" I asked.
At the sight of his smile, my chest warmed. “It is. I thought I would show you how to spice up your ramen.”
“And how’s that?”
“Well,” with a little tug of my hand, he pulled me into him, wrapping his arms around me as he stirred the pot with his free hand. “You add things to the little spice packet it comes with. So, in a separate saucepan, you whisk together the flavor packet with some sesame oil, honey, soy sauce, rice vinegar, garlic, ginger, and… you guessed it, peanut butter. Then stir in your noodles. If you’re feeling real fancy, garnish it with some chopped scallions and sesame seeds.”
