Page 49 of The Lucky One
She made a face. “Yeah, good thing everyone has different taste.”
“Oh, shut up, Lauren,” Jon chided, giving her a playful pinch on the cheek.
She jumped back. “No, my makeup! Great, now I have to redo it before—”
“Before what?” Jon and Tim said simultaneously.
Lauren blushed and quickly took her seat. “Nothing, let’s eat. I’m so hungry!”
She had colored her dark hair a light shade of violet, which Jon had mentioned got her into trouble with their stepfather. The mere thought of the last time I’d seen Humphrey, unlocking my jail cell, sent a shiver down my spine. Jon hadn’t been to his mother’s place yet after rehab, but I knew it was only a matter of time on his road to recovery.
Tim came over for a quick hug. “Good to see you, German.”
“You too, Tim.”
My weekly dinners with Tim had stuck after Jon’s return. When Jon found out how often I came over, he’d vouched for keeping it up. On nights like this, everything we had been through seemed to settle into a nice, normal togetherness. My heart swelled with warmth as I imagined us continuing this tradition for many years to come—
“You good?” Jon’s hand landed on my arm.
“I just had a weird thought.”
That the tradition had a time limit of way less than many years.
I cleared my throat and smiled so he wouldn’t worry.
“Well...” Tim set down the pasta on the table. “Let’s eat!”
And we all gathered round. “Tim, you’ve outdone yourself!” I exclaimed after a bite of tomato basil sauce that tasted unlike anything I had ever tried before.
“I didn’t cook tonight.” Tim chuckled, patting Jon on the back as he returned with a bottle of water. “Seems like all those Culinary classes are paying off, son.”
“You made this?” I gazed from the pasta to Jon in amazement.
“Hey, why so surprised, Little German? I’m a man of many talents.” He leaned in to kiss my cheek, and a rush of warmth shot into my cheeks. Only a little touch from him and I was beaming.
I was still busy with my first helping by the time Jon and Tim had finished their seconds. Lauren had talked about the origins of basil for a good twenty minutes before asking to go watch TV on the couch.
“Oh, you should try Jon’s special buns!” Tim said to me. He fetched me one from the kitchen. Its shape reminded me a little of Brötchen. Gosh, I did miss German food.
I took a bite, and— “Oh—”A soggy liquid surprised me. “Is that cheese?” I covered my mouth as a hit of nausea overcame me.
“Yes! That’s the best part! Or isn’t it?” Tim looked at me, puzzled.
“You don’t like cheese?” Jon asked.
I shook my head. I couldn’t spit it out, but swallowing didn’t feel like a good option either.
“Here.” Jon jumped up and returned with a napkin. I turned to the side and tried to spit gracefully, but totally failed with a gagging sound.
“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling a twinge of shame for my childish behavior. But there was something about cheese I couldn’t stand. I had tried it thousands of times.
“Don’t be,” Jon assured me, though his expression had shifted.
My phone buzzed. “It’s my mom; I promised to call her back!” I hurried out into the hall. “Mama?”
“Mein Liebling, du hörst dich gut an. Wie geht es dir?” My lovely one, you sound good. How are you?
“I’m great. Really happy actually.” I spotted Jon leaning in the doorframe, chewing his lower lip. “You want to talk to her?” I asked him.