Page 75 of Carter

Carter: Nash, let me take an Uber.

Me: Fine. I’ll see you soon.

Carter: Text me your address.

I do, then close the text thread.

I head into the kitchen to look through the options for food. I have to make him dinner if he’s coming over, even if I can’t cook. There are no options, literally none, but I can’t have him here withnothing.I’ll have to run to the store.

There’s one right around the corner that should still be open. I grab my jacket, phone, wallet, and head out. While I walk, I scroll recipes to find something simple that I can whip up in about an hour. I settle on Shepard’s Pie because it seems simple enough and I always liked it as a kid. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to make it the way my mom did, but I guess I could try. Maybe I could surprise Jericho and Hollis with it one day, if it comes out right.

I need to talk to them. Plan a get together. Make sure Hollis is actually doing okay. Usually, if we don’t hear from him, that means he’s fine. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t talk to him. That’s shitty and unfair. Work shouldn’t always be my top priority. My family should be, even if they’re far and I’m worried about them seeing too much of me.

The store is thankfully open, and I get everything I need. As soon as I’m back home, roughly twenty minutes later, I take everything out of the bags and start on the potatoes since they’ll take the longest. Everything is prepped when my doorbell rings.

I wash and wipe my hands, then hurry to the door. A wave of nerves hit me when my hand grabs the handle, but I push them away—because why am I nervous? I open the door to find a smiling Carter on the other side. I can’t help but smile back and move aside for him to come in.

He walks in, his gaze bouncing around the room, taking it all in.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding about this place, were you?” he says.

“I don’t know how, nor do I care to, decorate this place.”

“Don’t you want to enjoy where you live?”

“Paintings and chairs won’t do that.”

“You’ve obviously never sat on a giant bean bag sofa.”

I raise a brow. “A what?”

“A bean bag sofa. It’s like a full-sized couch but made out of the bean bag stuff.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“It’s actually heaven. It hugs you.”

“How do you know this?”

He sighs. “I had one at my last apartment—well, my and Ryan’s apartment. He used to lie in it and read, but I couldn’t take it with me because I didn’t have the space for it.”

I nod, not sure what to say as I look around the room, trying to imagine pictures on the walls or vases on end tables. It doesn’t make me feel any type of way. Those things don’t mean anything to me; they don’t have any value. They’re just things that cost money.

“I hope you’re hungry,” I finally say.

He grins at me. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“I should have brought you to eat right after the event.”

“It’s not your job to take care of me, Nash.”

I give him aso what?look, the words on the tip of my tongue.

But I want to.

“I’m making dinner,” I say as I head toward the kitchen.

“Wait—as incookingit?” he calls after me. “You can cook?”