Page 39 of Chess Not Checkers
“I wanted to throw the chessboard at your face.”
A laugh bursts out of me, and she joins in. When our laughter subsides, our eyes lock, and everything around us fades away. Which is how I don’t notice until it’s too late that we’re not alone.
Chapter twenty-one
Yet
Jasmine Chamberlain
“Um.” Marigold stands a few feet behind Shepherd, wide-eyed and blinking. “I know I had a lot of coffee today, so I could be hallucinating. Is there amanin our kitchen?”
I jump, her presence surprising me, then let out a nervous laugh. “You’re not seeing things. Shepherd came over to help me with chess.”
Marigold looks at the bowls on the counter, then back at me. Her brows raise.
“I was hungry after practice,” I explain.
“Mm-hmm.” She nods, her tone ambiguous but her expression crystal clear. She’s not buying it. I wouldn’t either if I was her.
“I should probably head out.” Shepherd stands. “I really do have an English paper to write.”
“Don’t leave on my account. I’m going to my room,” Marigold says as she backs away. “You two have fun…or whatever it is that you do.”
Shepherd laughs. Meanwhile I cover my face. I’m never going to hear the end of this. I know, because if I caught Marigold in the kitchen with Jameson, I definitely wouldn’t shut up about it.
“I think I’ll head out,” Shepherd says after Marigold’s door closes.
I drop my hands. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best. I was close to falling asleep while eating.”
He looks down at his half-eaten bowl with longing. I bite back a laugh.
“Do you want to take it with you?”
He looks up like I just offered him the Heisman Trophy. “That would be amazing.”
I turn around to hide my smile. It probably shows far too much. Then I open the cabinet where we keep our food storage. Bash’s wife got me into using glass containers—something about them being less toxic—but the chef in me always has cheap deli containers on hand. It’s perfect for moments like this. I pull down a large one and grab a lid off the nearby stack, then fill it with the rest of the pasta on the stove.
“I’m hesitant to send this home with you, because I know there’s no way you’re going to heat it up properly.” I snap on the lid.
“You don’t have to worry about that. It’s not even going to get cold before I eat the rest,” he replies.
I giggle. “There’s no way you can eat the rest of this tonight.” It’s a heavy dish, with loads of cream and parmesan mixed in with the bright pesto, seasoned chicken, and pasta.
“I can, and I will. Unless Owen guilts me into sharing with him. I’ll feel bad for subjecting him to my cooking after this.”
I turn around, still smiling because I’m not able to stop. “You should share. Tell him it’s my thank-you for letting me hang out the other night.”
“And let him think you made something for him?” Shepherd shakes his head. “No way, he’s not having something from you before I do.”
I scoff. “Go ahead and give up on that dream, because it’s not happening.”
I slide the container across the island. He catches it with a grin.
“Didn’t you hear my speech about never giving up?” He grabs the container and points it at me. “You’re on my list now, Chef.”
“I’m not a chef—”
“Yet,” he interrupts.
