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Oliver snickered.

Luna dropped her hand to find him laughing, head tipped back against the fridge.

“You’re exhausting,” he told her. “I can’t believe everybody thinks you’re just the party girlback home.”

Luna frowned, stung. “I’m not usually like this! I’mbreezy. I’mcool. I’m…”

She floundered, fully prepared to start in on what she was like back home: poised and giggly, all fun all the time. The girl you called if you wanted a baby shower to be a hit without those creepy diaper games. Peoplelovedher back home. She was constantly invited to dinner parties, movie openings, and birthdays. Rooms erupted into cheers when she walked in. She wasn’t the person you went to if someone needed a first aid kit or a shoulder to cry on, but goddamnit, she wasfun. She was so annoyed that Oliver made hernotfun. Made her into the kind of person who yelled and gave away her last piece of jerky and knew how to put snow chains on her tires.

Oliver cut her off before she could say any of it, those dark eyes so soft on hers. “You could be.”

Luna groaned. “Loud and aggressive and angry?”

He cocked his head, considering. “I just don’t think you’re really… fun party girl all the time. Nobody is.”

Luna’s heart thudded in her chest. The bond was trilling, as it always did when Oliver was close. But her heartbeat was stronger, overpowering the vibrations thrumming down her ribs.

She pulled up another hasty smile. “Wanna bet?”

Then she turned toward the cupboards to hide the blush growing on her cheeks.

“Sit,” she told him, pulling open the cupboard doors and making a show of peering through the tinned goods.

A chair scraped out behind her. “If you’re taking requests, I’d… I’d really love some cheesy broccoli soup.”

His voice was so tentative that Luna couldn’t help but look back. Oliver was sitting in his chair from this morning, toying with a shredded piece of crust from Luna’s plate.

“My parents used to make it with us,” he explained. “It’s one of the last memories I have of them. Cheesy broccoli soup is a Musgrove family staple.”

Luna tilted her head, considering. She’d had cheese in soup before and hadn’t been a fan. But if this was the Musgrove version of a comforting grilled cheese, then so be it.

“I can swing that,” she said, taking out her phone. “What do I Google? Do you have a favorite recipe?”

“I do,” he said, standing up. “I can tell you while we make it. Come on,” he added when she glared at him to get back in the chair. “I’ll feel better if I can do something with my hands.”

Luna looked down at his thick fingers. For a second, she thought about taking one into her mouth, telling him she had a better idea of what he could do with his hands.

Then his stomach rumbled again, and all thoughts of his big fingers were put aside.

“Fine,” she said. “What do we do first?”

He opened the fridge and handed her broccoli and a potato.

“Start with these,”he said.

Five minutes later, they had onion browning on the stove. Oliver’s doing, of course. Luna was still busy with the broccoli and potatoes. Oliver had to teach her first how to sharpen a knife after he noticed it was getting blunt. Then Luna got temporarily distracted by the eyes on the potatoes, which she’d never had to deal with before and spent an inordinate amount of time carving out.

She stood back, admiring her cutting board proudly. “Done!”

“Great,” Oliver said, looking over her shoulder. “Now we can…”

He trailed off.

Luna looked back at him self-consciously. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said.

Luna glared at him. “No, what? Those are perfectly chopped vegetables!”