Page 85 of Whispered Promises

“Noah spent the afternoon with Rosy at the farm.” I pause, waiting to gauge his reaction, but other than tapping his fingers silently against the worktop, he doesn’t say anything. “She’s going to come over for dinner tonight. I wanted to let you know, so you don’t feel blindsided or uncomfortable when she arrives.”

His fingers halt their movement. “Why would I be uncomfortable? We had a conversation; I said I just wanted to be friends. So we’re friends, and friends hang out.”

His voice sounds too high, and I’m not sure if he’s trying to remind himself or me. But either way, I don’t push it. Instead, I grab a couple of the pinwheel pesto pasties I made earlier, placing them on a plate and pushing them in front of him.

An offering of understanding.

“Thanks,” he mutters, taking a bite into one as he starts scrolling on his phone. The silence lingers between us as I start making the sauce: a nutty lemon feta cream. It’s not awkward, but with Max, it’s unusual. He’s never stuck for conversation; he usually finds it more difficult to be silent.

As I’m placing the tray of nuts into the oven to toast, the front door opens. Keys hit the dish and shoes thunk on the floor, then Nate drops onto the seat beside Max. Without warning, he swipes Max’s elbow, so his arm slips sharply. A snort leaves me as I watch Max bite air instead of pastry.

“Dick,” Max huffs, then stuffs the pastry into his mouth.

“Fuckface,” Nate quips back with a smirk. He turns back towards me. “Smells good. What’s for dinner?”

“Lemon feta pasta, with some pesto pastries. Rosy’s coming, so I’ll make some chicken on the side for you.”

Nate sits up taller, then turns to Max. “Be nice to her.”

Max’s fist clenches on the table. “What’s with everyone giving me shit? I’m nice. She finds me funny, remember?”

“Did.”

“Did, what?” Max asks.

The tension simmers, and whilst the two of them have always bantered, this is more heated, and I’m not sure if I should get in the middle or not.

“You did make her laugh. Then you made her hurt,” Nate grinds out, crossing his arms defiantly across his chest as he glares.

“Okay, how about we leave it at that? She doesn’t need you two creating tension she’s going to feel as soon as she comes over,” I interrupt, hoping the two will see some sense in my words. “Either ignore each other or at least pretend to play nice.”

Carefully folding the rolled pasta dough, I slice it into strips to create the tagliatelle shapes, keeping an eye on the water heating to boil.

Noah’s already home now, so Rosy should be here soon. The anticipation’s building, the flutters cresting in waves in my stomach. Should I get this excited to see her already? Does she feel the same?

She’s had a lot going on this week; with work, the talk she had with Max, and our first kiss…I didn’t want to overwhelm her on top of that. But it’s been hard not to message. Not to dump all my feelings into her lap, but to just check in and see how she’s doing. How do I appear attentive, but not too clingy? Should be a rule book for these sorts of things. Scrap that; each person should come with a manual. “How best to make me happy.”

But that kiss…I really want more of them. It doesn’t have to be all her kisses; sharing them with the others doesn’t seem as daunting as I thought it would be. As long as she includes me, I think I can do it.

The pop and sizzle of the water pulls my mind back into focus. Dammit. I need to turn it down; it’s boiling too quickly. I don’t want to put the pasta on until Rosy arrives, as it takes minimal time to cook.

Dropping a clean cloth over the cut pasta so it doesn’t dry out, I take the salads I’d prepped earlier out of the fridge and drizzle the homemade sesame and miso dressing before mixing them.

I hope I haven’t missed anything. Should I make another dish for her? Is it enough?

A knock sounds at the door, and my heart bolts into a sprint. Nate, having remained seated at the kitchen island, rises from the stool and heads down the hallway to greet Rosy.

Quiet murmuring, too quiet for me to decipher, can be heard for a few moments. What’s taking them so⁠—

Oh.

With her cheeks flushed a soft pink and fingers pressed to her lips, she walks into the room tucked under Nate’s arm. It’s obvious now why it took so long for them to enter.

She’s even prettier after she’s been kissed.

Wiping my hands on the kitchen towel, I round the island. “Hey, Rosy. How was your day?”

Tugging her hand, I pull her into my space and duck my head to bring our faces closer together.