Page 22 of Cross Ice

“Don’t forget meal prep services.” He grinned. “Someone else cooks, I just heat it up. Best of both worlds.”

I shook my head, fighting a smile. “That’s terrible.”

“That’s efficient,” he corrected. “I work late, travel a lot. Cooking’s just not realistic.”

“You could relearn.”

“I could.” He met my eyes with that simple confidence. “Or I could keep coming here and letting you cook for me.”

The casual assumption that he’d keep coming back settled in my gut before I could examine it. He said it the way someone states a plan they’ve already made. Not a question. Not even an offer. Just a fact about how things were going to be, stated easily, like the arrangement had already been decided—including, apparently, what role I’d be playing in it.

I thought about Thursday and the Friday and Monday ask. Five times in just over a week. His texts during the day, not just at night. The way he’d shown up with Thai food like he already knew what kind of evening I’d need.

He was building a routine around me. Not asking if that was okay, just doing it, confident enough in what this was becoming that he didn’t think to check.

Part of me wanted to push back on that, to remind him that nothing had been agreed to, that I hadn’t signed on for someone else to decide the shape of my weeks—or my role in them.

But the rest of me, the part that had said yes to Thursday and yes again to Friday, knew I’d already been answering that question every time I unlocked the elevator.

“So, Miguel’s the domestic one?” I asked, steering away from the feeling.

“Yeah. He’s better at that stuff than I am. More patient.” Nico took a sip of his beer. “We’re close, but we’re different. He’s more settled. Thinks things through. I’m more go-with-the-flow.”

“I noticed,” I said dryly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You showed up at a gay club on a Friday night, picked up a stranger, and had him in a hotel room within an hour. That’s pretty go-with-the-flow.”

His grin widened. “And you’re the guy who said yes. What does that say about you?”

“That I made a questionable decision.”

“A great decision,” he corrected.

I tried not to smile, and failed.

“You miss him?” I asked. “Miguel. You said you don’t see each other much.”

Something flickered across Nico’s face, too quick to read. “Yeah. We talk all the time, but it’s not the same as actually seeing him. Our schedules don’t line up much.” He paused. “You have siblings?”

I shook my head. “Only child. Was it good, growing up with someone?”

“Mostly.” Nico leaned back. “Miguel’s three years younger, so when we were kids I was the bossy older brother and he was the annoying tagalong. But we were into the same stuff, same sports. Made us close even when I didn’t want to be stuck with my little brother.”

“And now?”

“Now he’s one of my favorite people.” Nico’s expression softened. “He’s good at what he does. Talented. I’m proud of him.”

The genuine affection in his voice touched me. This was the side of Nico I was starting to see more of. Not just the confident charm, but the person underneath who cared about his family, who thought about things more deeply than he let on.

“What about you?” Nico asked. “Only child—did you want siblings?”

“Sometimes. It was quiet growing up. Would’ve been nice to have someone else around.” I skimmed my hand down his bicep. “My parents weren’t really the warm, chaotic family type. More reserved.”

“You still talk to them?”

“Occasionally.” I kept my voice neutral. “We’re not close. We do the obligatory holiday and birthday calls.”