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“That sounds… well, I guess if you season everything, it wouldn’t be so bad. I like variety in what I eat, and since I stay at home all the time, it’s easier to make it.”

Graham smiled and shook his head. “It is boring, but before I moved here, I woke early and went to bed by eight, so cooking never appealed.”

I grabbed the cut fruit from the fridge and the chips from the pantry. Opening both containers, I dumped the chips into a crystal glass bowl, the one container big enough to hold them, and slid both toward Graham.

“Oh, a fork.”

I opened the drawer of my kitchen island, which doubled as a breakfast bar, and pulled out utensils for two, placing them on the cloth napkins, before sliding a set to the older man. “Please, help yourself.”

The oven beeped, and I jumped. It was the one annoyance of my kitchen setup, but I dealt with it because the dual oven and gas stove was worth it.

As I opened the door and slid the tray with the breaded chicken inside, I heard a moan from behind me. I won’t lie, I hoped my tiny bubble butt caused the reaction in the man, but when I straightened and turned, it was to see Graham’s arms wrapped around the fruit bowl as he gazed at the contents with longing.

“What… how did you?”

“It’s the mango and guava juice. When I cut up the fruit, I squeeze half a mango over the mixture and add a splash of guava.”

“Yeah, most people don’t eat healthy, at least not someone who’s on their own at your age. How did you learn?” Graham asked.

I swallowed, hating that something I felt proud of accomplishing being tied to something awful.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

The worry in Graham’s voice and his stillness on the other side of the island made me brave. He wasn’t asking to pry.

“I was fifteen when I started my first channel, but because of two copyright strikes within the same year, they shut it down. When I was sixteen and better versed in what I could include in my videos, I started Neko-Ren, my channel now. Mom shoved food in front of me when I would forget to eat, but when I moved into this house at twenty, I found it easier to eat junk and drink sodas or coffee than cook. But at that age, you’re pretty resilient. I…”

Something on my face must have given him a clue, because he’d straightened up in his chair. His jaw ticked and his eyes narrowed.

“Compounding my unhealthy lifestyle, I met a guy, my first boyfriend, close to a year later. I started neglecting everything; my channel, my friends and family, and even my health. At first, I thought he cared about me and worried for me, which is why I cut back on everything but him. He didn’t live with me, but he was everywhere, all the time. I couldn’t breathe.”

I swallowed and continued. “Six months I stayed with him. My weight dropped to ninety pounds, and that’s when the emotional abuse ramped up.”

“How did it end?”

I flinched and said, “That’s a story for another time. But I learned after that to take care of myself, eat right, and get enough sleep.”

Graham unlocked his fists and walked around the island. Without pause, he pulled me into a hug, surrounding me with his warmth and scent. My heartbeat, which sped up thinking about that time in my life, slowed at his touch.

But I noticed the awkward way he wrapped himself around me, allowing me to press against him. His hands skimmed my shoulders and his back was ramrod straight.

“You don’t comfort many people, do you?”

“What I want to do is find the fucker and make his body disappear, but to restrain myself from demanding answers on his whereabouts, you get this?”

I smiled into his soft shirt and almost moaned when I inhaled. My instincts screamed for me to climb his body and wrap my arms and legs around him, seeking more of the comfort he’d forced himself to give me. So instead, I stepped back.

“That’s… sweet of you, Graham.”

“I’m not. Trust me. My ex-girlfriend, who, next to you, is the kindest person in the world, says I’m a closed-off asshole who doesn’t ‘do’ human emotions.”

Rather than letting out a primal scream, or throwing a tantrum at the unfairness of confirming Graham’s sexuality, I smiled awkwardly and took another step back.

I breathed a sigh of relief when the timer beeped, giving me even more distance from the comfort Graham offered. I cut open the ciabatta rolls and placed the baked chicken on one side, dousing them in marinara, before topping it with several slices of provolone and placed the tray back in the oven on broil.

“What happened to the guy?” Graham asked.

“A neighbor mentioned he moved out of town, but I don’t keep track of him.”