Page 37 of You First
The cricket match ended just as the orange in the sky slipped into purple. When Meredith noticed the cute striker ambling toward the truck, she hopped off the tailgate.
“I think I’ll start walking,” she said, eyeing her friend meaningfully. “But I’ll watch you from the front yard until you pull away, so don’t do anything stupid like giving him a ride.”
Brooke pulled her gaze away from the stranger with the café au lait skin, but she still met Meredith’s eyes with a dreamy look.
“I’ll text you.” But then she frowned. “Jamie comes home in two weeks?”
Meredith wrinkled her nose. “Yes. Hopefully, I’ll be at work when he shows.”
ON MONDAY ANDTuesday, Meredith checked in on Gray after class, but then she spent the evenings at the library working on her first writing assignment for English 102. On Thursday afternoon, she went over to his house to start a soup. She heard his quick footfalls on the stairs while she chopped celery, and as soon as he hit the kitchen, Gray skidded to a halt.
“What are you doing?”
Meredith glanced up and took in his faded Loyola Wolfpack sweatshirt, worn, button-fly jeans, and bare feet. She abruptly dragged her eyes back to the celery. “Making soup.”
“It’s two in the afternoon,” he said, giving her a confused look. “I had a PB&J an hour ago.”
Meredith tried to breathe evenly through the thought of him standing in the kitchen barefoot, making a PB&J. “I’m sure that was delightful,” she teased. “But this is for dinner.”
He stepped closer to inspect her work with a raised brow. “What kind of soup?” he asked, hooking a finger in the grocery bag she’d set on the counter and peeking inside. “Wild rice?”
“Chicken and wild rice.”
He walked around the island behind her and pointed to the Crock-pot. “Is that a giant rice cooker? Meredith, I couldn’t possibly eat that much rice.”
This time, she couldn’t help but smile. “That’s a Crock-pot.”
“A what?”
“A Crock-pot. You know, a slow cooker,” she explained. “I’ll set it up now, walk away, and by six-thirty, this’ll be ready for you.”
He pursed his lips and nodded with pretend approval.
“I can’t believe you’ve never seen a Crock-pot,” she said. “Actually, I can’t believe you didn’t own one before today.”
“We ate out a lot when I was growing up,” Gray tossed out and then pointed to the appliance, a crook in his brow. “I own this?”
He was so adorable that Meredith found herself biting her lip to keep her smile under control. “You do. I hope you don’t mind. It was twenty-five dollars at WalMart. It’ll last forever, and they’re super convenient.”
Gray shook his head, mischief glinting in his eyes. “I don’t mind.” He nodded toward the small appliance. “You’re a good cook. I can’t wait for dinner.”
The compliment poured through her, golden and slow, like honey. She demurred. “Everyone’s a good cook with a Crock-pot.”
He arched his brow again. “You used a Crock-pot for the magic cornflake cookies and the tater tot casserole?” he asked doubtfully.
Meredith laughed. “No, of course not.”
Gray nodded once. “My statement stands.” He stepped closer, and Meredith’s heartbeat picked up pace. “Can I help with anything?”
“I’m supposed to be helping you.”
“Stubborn girl,” he muttered, almost inaudibly. “I need a break.”
“You feeling okay?”
Gray narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m fine. I just need a break.”
“Your detective isn’t cooperating?” she teased.
