Free Can't Always Get What You Want by Chelsey Krause Page A

we sit down at the patio table. My stomach lets out a loud grumble. No wonder that alcohol hit me like a ton of bricks.
    We purposely don’t tell Samira and Narayan who cooked what. I’m not concerned, though. I’ve got this in the bag.
    We quickly tuck into our food. Brett’s steak is surprisingly delicious. And tender. My confidence is beginning to waver.
    “I don’t know, it’s a close call, Sammy,” Narayan says, while thoughtfully touching his chin.
    “I’ll say. Although I lean more toward the pineapple marinade.”
    Noooo!
    “It was good, but the teriyaki one was better.”
    Yes!
    “Well, ladies and gentlemen, we have a tie,” Samira says.
    Brett shoots me a good-natured smile and shrugs. I can’t help but smile back.
    —
    After a couple hours of chatting and eating, we’re sufficiently stuffed, sated, and sober.
    Well, at least I’m sober.
    I’m not so sure about Narayan. Despite all the food he’s consumed (for a skinny guy, he can sure put it away), he’s acting pretty tipsy. His voice is getting louder, and Samira shushes him in between giggles.

    “Well, folks, I should head home,” Samira says, consulting her watch. “Day shift tomorrow.”
    I squeeze her in a tight hug, silently thanking her for helping me pull myself together earlier tonight. She squeezes back.
    Is Brett leaving too? I hope not.
    Samira retrieves her and Narayan’s coats from my bedroom. So Brett is staying?
    “Is it all right if I hang out here for a bit?” he asks.
    “Sure.” What will it be like being with him alone, without our friends serving as buffers?
    I can think of a thing or two I’d like to do with him on the couch…
    Nope, nope, can’t go there. Don’t even think about it.
    We say our goodbyes, and I start to clean up. Brett wordlessly cleans up with me. I love that he’s such a gentleman.
    I throw dishes into the sink and begin to fill it.
    “No dishwasher?”
    “Nope. I don’t mind, though. It’s only me here, so there usually isn’t much to clean.”
    He rolls up his sleeves and bumps me out of the way with his hip.
    “Here, I’ll wash. You dry.”
    “You like getting your hands dirty?”
    Geez, Sophie, where did that little comment come from?
    He flashes me a flirtatious smile, but says nothing. For the second time tonight, it occurs to me how much I like working alongside him. I can easily picture us old together, standing side by side, doing daily rituals like cooking supper and washing dishes. How odd. I’ve known him for such a short time, and yet…there’s just something about him.

    You felt that way about Aaron too.
    My mind is a little calmer than it was earlier this evening, so I tenderly pick up the memories. I turn them over, inspect them, looking for barbs. They’re everywhere, but right now they don’t hurt as much. It must be the residual effects of the alcohol.
    “You all right, Soph?”
    “Hmm? Sorry?”
    “You’ve been staring out the window and drying the same plate for about three minutes.”
    “Oops! Well, I’m sure it’s dry now,” I say, laughing nervously.
    Brett wears a bemused expression, and returns his attention to the sinkful of dishes.
    Crap. I have to save this, or else he’s going to think I’m a loon who spaces out all the time.
    “Thanks for coming over tonight. And helping me clean up. I really appreciate it.”
    “You’re welcome. It’s my pleasure.”
    “I have one question, though…”
    “What’s that?”
    “The pineapple juice. How did you manage to get such a great, tender steak with it?”
    He taps the side of his nose. “Ancient Chinese secret.”
    He’s evading the answer by quoting from Wayne’s World ? Oh, two can play at that game.
    “Stop torturing yourself, man. Live in the now! Live in the now !”

    He laughs at this. I really do love the way his eyes crinkle up when he smiles.
    “Seriously! The pineapple enzymes should have made the outside mushy and the inside tough,” I say.
    “You’d end it there?! I