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Ryder

“Can you hand me the whisk?” I held out my hand.

Marti shrugged and started touching the utensils in my urn. “That’s the flat thing, right?”

“How do you survive?” I laughed and walked over to grab it out of the urn beside the stove. It was easier than trying to explain it to Marti.

“I have a microwave, an Uber Eats account, and prefer to be served by someone as often as possible.” He walked over to the other side of the island and picked up his wine glass.

“That is a very loaded statement. Seems to me you’re not getting served enough.”

“Dick jokes” he groaned. “You always have a dick joke.”

“That was actually a sad sex joke that didn’t even mention the peen.”

“Oh, God… Peen?” He cackled. “I hate when you use that word.”

“Which is why I always use it.” I put my fingers in the flour and made a cavity in the middle.

“You might as well have whisperedmoistin my ear,” he scrunched up his handsome face. His brown eyes were as deep as wells. Martin thought about everything way too much – he always had.

“Can you push the eggs over to me?” I grinned. “They are inside the gray container right in front of you.”

“Smartass. Eggs, I can handle.”

“Should I ask you to crack one?” I smirked.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Why don’t you use the premade noodles like everyone else?”

I gasped and stared at him. “You just murdered my grandma.”

“I mean… I love your grandma. I’m sorry I killed her with an innocent question.”

“Food isn’t meant to be processed. It’s meant to be therapy – at least, it is for me. Cooking my family recipes makes me feel closer to them. It’s why I’ve been cooking that sauce on low for the last couple of hours. And I didn’t open a can to do it. It’s all fresh.”

“You’re fresh.”

“I don’t think that’s the burn you think it is.”

“It’s not Mister Chef.” He shrugged and pulled the stool out to sit. He leaned onto the large island that had become my messy prep space. “Making pasta is messy.”

I cracked the egg into the well I had created in the flour. “It’s fun. You wanna do it?”

“I think I prefer watching you. Besides, it’s safer. I’d hate to mess up your family recipe. That sauce smells so good. Maybe I should move back here and move in with you. That way I’d eat so much better.”

“I don’t cook like this every day, Marti. After a busy day cooking for others, the last thing I usually want to do is cook when I’m home.”

“But you would?”

I nodded. “For you, I probably would. Are you even being a little bit serious right now? You could totally move in if you wanted to. Do you hate Vegas that much?”

“I think I might. I… You would probably learn to hate me. I’m not a very good roommate,” he scoffed.

I looked at him and smiled. “I know every quirk of yours. I think we’d be just fine.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I think we would be, too. Have you ever…” He drifted off and left me hanging. I waited and then shook my head. He did this sometimes when he wanted to avoid something. It was just who he was. But I wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily.

“You gonna finish that question? I haveeveredlots of things.”