The Grumpy Roommate Gamble (Heroes of Huckleberry Creek #1)

6. Felicity

SIX

FELICITY

I stared after Gabe as he stalked down the hall to his bedroom, my brain full of exactly what he’d inadvertently suggested—my underwear scattered everywhere. Except, in my head it was scattered because he’d slowly peeled me out of it himself. Heat flushed me from head to toe, and I was grateful when I heard the water start up in his bathroom.

Get ahold of yourself, girl. It was a slip of the tongue. He’s not actually into you like that. He’s your roommate. Nothing more. Don’t go making things more awkward than they already are.

Because I needed a minute or five, I headed downstairs to start supper. If I spent a couple of those minutes standing in front of the open freezer door to cool off my inconvenient attraction—well, he wasn’t down here to notice.

Thanking Past Me for the forethought, I pulled some bolognese from the freezer. There was plenty for both of us. I’d make him dinner as a thank you. It had been a long time since I’d cooked for anyone. This didn’t show off my full skill set in that department, but it would be quick. I put it on to warm, then went back upstairs to start moving my plant babies again .

I was relieved he was okay with them. They’d have survived all crammed into my room, but they’d thrive better around the house, where they all got the light they needed. Having them here made me feel more at home. A house with no plants felt sterile to me, uncomfortable. When I’d moved in, the place was very much a bachelor pad, with the predictably massive TV and the bare essentials of furniture. The plants improved things, in my opinion. So did the extra pillows and throws. He hadn’t said anything about those, but the implication had been that I was allowed to have my stuff here, so I put those back, too.

I was just finishing up when Gabe strode into the kitchen, nose twitching. “What’s that?”

Tearing my gaze away from the picture he made in those gray sweatpants and velvet soft, muscle clinging T-shirt again, I gave the pasta a stir. “I made dinner. I didn’t think to ask if you like spaghetti.”

“Who doesn’t like spaghetti?” He said it as if such a thing were a capital crime. “But you don’t have to cook for me.”

He seemed flummoxed and wore that vaguely irritated expression I was coming to learn probably meant annoyance that I’d thought he might be unreasonable in some way. God, I hoped I hadn’t offended him. “Please, you have to let me do something as repayment for invading your space like this. I happen to enjoy cooking, and I don’t mind taking on the lion’s share of it, so long as I’m here.”

“Well, I’m not fool enough to turn that down.”

Stupidly pleased with the concession, I turned away to slice some baguette to toast for garlic bread.

After a moment, he asked, “Is there anything I can do?”

Surprised, I glanced over my shoulder. “You can set the table and tell me what you found out about the house.”

He opened the utensil drawer. “Well, you’ve seen it, so you already know it was bad. Stuff got worse from all the water sitting.”

My shoulders crept up around my ears. “I did what I could with a shop vac but?—”

“That wasn’t a criticism of you. The guy who was supposed to take care of this shit didn’t do his job. End of story. Anyway, I’ve got a lot of demo ahead of me. If there’s anything over there you want moved to protect it, now’s the time.”

My heart twinged. “The stuff I’d want protected is either already here or was ruined.”

“Can renter’s insurance cover any of it?”

“Even if I had any, which I don’t—something that will be changing, I promise—some of the things that were ruined can’t be replaced.”

“Damn, Felicity. I’m sorry.” There was an unfamiliar softness in his voice that I didn’t know what to do with.

Jerking my shoulders in a shrug, I moved to drain the pasta.

Gabe said nothing else, and I didn’t ask any more questions. I wasn’t sure I was prepared for the answers. There’d been too much emotional up and down the past twenty-four hours, and I needed my life to level out again.

I plated the food and brought it to the table he’d set. He’d even used the cloth napkins I had piled in a basket on the island. That made me smile because I was certain he wasn’t a cloth napkin kinda guy. It was another concession to me, one he didn’t have to make, but I appreciated it nonetheless.

Gabe dug in immediately, lifting a steaming bite of spaghetti to his mouth. He hissed a little at the heat, then chewed and swallowed. Then he stared at the plate. “This is really good.”

I huffed a laugh. “Are you sure you actually tasted it, or did you burn your taste buds off?”

“We learn to eat fast in the Army. Never know when we’re gonna get called out.” He took another bite, slower this time. “Seriously, really good.”

The praise warmed something in me. I twirled my fork through my own pasta. “Thanks. It’s been a long time since I cooked for anyone else. It was just me and my dad growing up, so I got used to cooking for him. Spaghetti was one of his favorites. This was his mom’s recipe. She was Italian.”

“I can tell.” He forked up a few more bites. “You lost him a few of years ago, right?”

Surprised, I blinked at him. “Yeah. Cancer.” How did Gabe know that? Then again, Huckleberry Creek was a small town. So long as he didn’t plug his ears, he was bound to have heard from someone.

“Man, fuck cancer. It’s rough losing your parents, whether it’s by degrees or in one fell swoop.” Gaze firmly on his plate, he lifted his glass. “I lost both of mine in a car accident. That’s why I came to live with Nana here back in high school.”

I’d known he was hurting back then, but he hadn’t ever talked about how he’d ended up in Huckleberry Creek, and I’d never pressed.

Fingers flexing, he lifted his gaze to me. “I never said it back then, but you made it easier when I was new here.”

Surprised again, I wasn’t sure what to say. This felt like some sort of admission.

“I was messed up back then. Angry. Grieving. Didn’t know which way was up and forgot my shit for school half the time. You always made sure I was covered with pens or paper or whatever. I appreciated that.”

“You’re welcome.” What else was there to say?

Of course I remembered, because I’d had a massive crush on the new guy, but I hadn’t thought he’d even known who I was back then, when I was a class below him. We’d had Spanish together in first period, and I’d wanted to do something to help him settle in, because I knew what it was to be new in school.

What did it mean that he was bringing this up now?

Maybe nothing. Maybe it was just casual conversation. Or maybe he’d been noticing me all these years more than I’d thought.