Page 156 of Oleander

He snorted. “No, it was an awkward fall. I put a hand out to break it and broke my hand instead.” He was pulling open the door of the oven to check inside. “Ten more minutes, I’d say. Are you hungry?”

I’d had a burger and chips at Five Guys about a half hour ago. “Yes, starving.”

“Good,” Cas said.

“How did you even get it in there one-handed?” I said as I pulled the chicken out of the oven ten minutes later.

“With extreme skill.”

We let it rest and set the table, an easy silence weaving around us as we did. I sliced bread while he poured water. He handed me the knife and asked for a few slices of the breast while I took a large leg. I caught myself just looking at him: Cas was here. We were here together. How had this happened? I tried not to think about fate, and kismet, and the universe sending me signals and focused on my chicken.

“You need me to cut that for you?” I asked as we sat down to eat.

He shot me a glare, the first I’d seen since this morning, and I smiled. Then he proceeded to cut his chicken one-handed.

He could cook. The chicken tasted wonderful, succulent and flavoursome, but I was getting full quickly. Not wanting to offend him, I kept eating.

“So when do you return to Oxford?” he asked, conversationally.

“Beginning of October. I volunteered to help out with Freshers Week.”

“Christ, why on earth would you do that?”

I shrugged. At the time I’d offered, I hadn’t known what I wanted to do with my summer, only that I wanted to spend as little time as possible at home. This was before Nathan’s offer.

“Freshers are always fun,” I said.

“Were you?” he asked. “A fun fresher.”

He couldn’t possibly have known what he was asking. Couldn’t possibly have any understanding of how broken I still was the September I’d arrived in Oxford. Yes, I’d drunk-called him a few times, but they were hang-ups. He didn’t know the depth of my misery.

I stared at him as I shook my head. “No, Cas. I was a fucking miserable fresher.”

His hand stalled for a moment, before he continued eating. A slightly more uncomfortable silence filling the space between us.

“So what does your hand mean for school?” I asked him.

His jaw clenched almost imperceptibly as he reached for a piece of bread. “I will lose a semester. Most likely two.”

“Shit.” I stared at him. I knew his music degree was a year longer than a standard university degree here; I’d looked it up, meaning he had two years left at the conservatory even before breaking his hand. “I’m sorry.”

He looked at me, a slight frown on his face. “Why? You didn’t do it. It’s my own fault.”

I didn’t think falling over was anyone’s fault. “Is it painful?”

“It’s fine.”

I made a hearty attempt to finish my plate. Though I hadn’t even filled it the way I normally would, I had to put down my fork when I’d only cleared about a third of it. I gulped my water and sat back.

“What are your plans while you’re here?” he asked me, lifting his own glass to take a small sip.

“I haven’t made any. Figured I’d split the time between lazing around the pool and doing some touristy stuff.”

“This is your first time here? London, I mean.”

“As an adult. I came with my parents when I was little.”

I thought I saw a note of pity on his face before he blinked it away.