set their coffees on the table. Well. Coffee for him. Peppermint hot chocolate for her. It was stupid, but she’d been addicted to them when she was younger.
“Yeah. I know,” he teased. “And I'm so perfect!”
Sierra slowly reached for her mug. “I guess I don’t totally understand.”
“Neither did I. Actually. I still don’t understand. And it’s fine. I mean… I liked her or we wouldn’t have…”
“Been having sex?” Sierra offered and he flinched.
“You know.” She grasped her mug. “You’re going to have to get used to the fact that I am a legal adult.”
“Barely.” He frowned.
“Two years into being a legal adult,” she countered.
Right .
Sierra pulled the mug to her lips and then giggled. “I cannot believe you remembered this about me.” She took a sip. “I know this is totally a mark against my adultness, but I love this kind of hot chocolate. Love.”
Donovan let himself relax across from her and took a long drink of his coffee. “Good.”
“I guess sorry things are awkward at the store?” she offered. “But if you’re not torn up about it, you were probably not in the right place anyway.”
“No, probably not. Actually, the break showed me that we weren’t going anywhere.” And he was okay with that. It’s not like he was in a hurry to find his forever or anything, he just wanted it to be right when he did.
“I’ve never dated anyone where I ever thought it could actually go somewhere. Must be nice.” Her cheeks reddened a bit.
“Yeah.” Donovan pictured what he wanted in the end—a nice little house, close family—he just couldn’t imagine being part of the steps to get there.
“Thanks for this.” Sierra tapped her cup, slumped in her chair, and blew up her face to push her hairs off her forehead. So very Sierra. Living with her would be fine. It would be fine. Any day she’d feel normal again. Any day…
Finally Sierra had managed a nice breakfast and the perfect dinner for Donovan—spicy chicken and mashed potatoes. It had been one of his favorites when he lived with her family, and the family recipe had given her something to blog about that day as well. The small apartment smelled edible, and Van’s guitars were up on the wall.
She closed her eyes, knew timing on dinner was going to work out perfectly, and she started to finally feel that burst of independence she’d wanted when she left home.
The apartment door opened at just after eight, and Donovan paused half in the door with a smile. “Paprika chicken.”
Sierra giggled too fast to even try to stop it. “It used to be one of your favs.”
“Been forever.” He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “I’m already drooling.”
Sierra grasped the spatula and watched the chicken in the iron skillet. Paprika burned fast if you weren’t looking. “Now you’re supposed to play some music while I finish dinner. Remember how you used to do that for me and Mom?”
He let his bag slide off his shoulder as he dropped it on a chair.
“You don’t need me to help you finish.” His eyes seemed unfocused, and she watched Donovan instead of the food.
“Why were they buried? The guitars, I mean?”
He shrugged out of his soft leather jacket and dropped it on top of his backpack.
Maybe she’d hit on some kind of bad topic, and maybe she should let it go, but… “Please? One song. Anything you want.”
He chuckled softly. “Okay. Fine. One.”
She was practically giddy again as he gently lifted the guitar off the wall.
“I tuned it for you,” she said.
He turned to face her, the guitar strap already over his shoulder. “How do you know how to tune guitars?”
“YouTube.” She grinned. “It’s probably not perfect, but it’s close. You play. I’ll dish us up.”
“Thanks for dinner.” He stared at the instrument in his hands. “You didn’t have to.”
“Thanks for playing me a song. You do have to,” she teased.
He ran his hand up and down the
“Yeah. I know,” he teased. “And I'm so perfect!”
Sierra slowly reached for her mug. “I guess I don’t totally understand.”
“Neither did I. Actually. I still don’t understand. And it’s fine. I mean… I liked her or we wouldn’t have…”
“Been having sex?” Sierra offered and he flinched.
“You know.” She grasped her mug. “You’re going to have to get used to the fact that I am a legal adult.”
“Barely.” He frowned.
“Two years into being a legal adult,” she countered.
Right .
Sierra pulled the mug to her lips and then giggled. “I cannot believe you remembered this about me.” She took a sip. “I know this is totally a mark against my adultness, but I love this kind of hot chocolate. Love.”
Donovan let himself relax across from her and took a long drink of his coffee. “Good.”
“I guess sorry things are awkward at the store?” she offered. “But if you’re not torn up about it, you were probably not in the right place anyway.”
“No, probably not. Actually, the break showed me that we weren’t going anywhere.” And he was okay with that. It’s not like he was in a hurry to find his forever or anything, he just wanted it to be right when he did.
“I’ve never dated anyone where I ever thought it could actually go somewhere. Must be nice.” Her cheeks reddened a bit.
“Yeah.” Donovan pictured what he wanted in the end—a nice little house, close family—he just couldn’t imagine being part of the steps to get there.
“Thanks for this.” Sierra tapped her cup, slumped in her chair, and blew up her face to push her hairs off her forehead. So very Sierra. Living with her would be fine. It would be fine. Any day she’d feel normal again. Any day…
Finally Sierra had managed a nice breakfast and the perfect dinner for Donovan—spicy chicken and mashed potatoes. It had been one of his favorites when he lived with her family, and the family recipe had given her something to blog about that day as well. The small apartment smelled edible, and Van’s guitars were up on the wall.
She closed her eyes, knew timing on dinner was going to work out perfectly, and she started to finally feel that burst of independence she’d wanted when she left home.
The apartment door opened at just after eight, and Donovan paused half in the door with a smile. “Paprika chicken.”
Sierra giggled too fast to even try to stop it. “It used to be one of your favs.”
“Been forever.” He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “I’m already drooling.”
Sierra grasped the spatula and watched the chicken in the iron skillet. Paprika burned fast if you weren’t looking. “Now you’re supposed to play some music while I finish dinner. Remember how you used to do that for me and Mom?”
He let his bag slide off his shoulder as he dropped it on a chair.
“You don’t need me to help you finish.” His eyes seemed unfocused, and she watched Donovan instead of the food.
“Why were they buried? The guitars, I mean?”
He shrugged out of his soft leather jacket and dropped it on top of his backpack.
Maybe she’d hit on some kind of bad topic, and maybe she should let it go, but… “Please? One song. Anything you want.”
He chuckled softly. “Okay. Fine. One.”
She was practically giddy again as he gently lifted the guitar off the wall.
“I tuned it for you,” she said.
He turned to face her, the guitar strap already over his shoulder. “How do you know how to tune guitars?”
“YouTube.” She grinned. “It’s probably not perfect, but it’s close. You play. I’ll dish us up.”
“Thanks for dinner.” He stared at the instrument in his hands. “You didn’t have to.”
“Thanks for playing me a song. You do have to,” she teased.
He ran his hand up and down the
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