Free Served Hot by Annabeth Albert

.” He made a vague gesture in the direction of the living room. “Still working some things out. About Craig. About me. Can you be patient with me?”
    “We’ll figure it out together.” I leaned in and kissed him, a feather of a kiss across his lips, before retreating. “Now about that game . . .”

February: Mexican Mocha

Chapter 7
    T he February chill had seeped into the hallway outside David’s apartment. I stretched out my legs, wiggling my toes. My wool pea coat wasn’t enough to counter the cold snap and make the wait for my boyfriend comfortable. He wasn’t that late—maybe fifteen minutes. But each minute served as a reminder that I needed to ask him for a key to his place.
    And I knew that it was mainly my fault; if I had asked, I was pretty sure he would have given me one. But I wanted him to offer. Wanted him to want me there. And so we were stuck in this strange place where I spent most nights at his place but didn’t keep more than a toothbrush there, didn’t have a key, and didn’t count on an invitation. For the most part, I was happier than I’d ever been in my life, but this strange, unsettled feeling had descended, along with the temperature, made worse by a truly crap week.
    “Sorry!” David came rushing up the stairs, Whole Foods bag dangling from one wrist. His thick wool dress coat and gray scarf made him look like a dapper 1950s businessman. He took the narrow hallway in quick, easy strides. “Been waiting long?”
    “Nah.” Heaving myself up, I took the bag while he unlocked the door, juggling it along with my messenger bag. “What’d you get?”
    “Carol at work was going on about this vegetarian butternut soup she had the other day and how easy it was to make. Thought I’d try it.”
    Just like that, affection chased out the chill in my bones and the frustration in my brain. Neither of us were great cooks. David had a whole drawer of take-out menus we made liberal use of, so him going out of his way to cook for me made me feel all cozy.
    “You don’t always have to do vegetarian just for me. You can eat meat around me,” I said as we unpacked the groceries in his tiny kitchen.
    “I believe I’m well aware of that.” Arching one eyebrow, he held my gaze until I was the one blushing for once. “You want to chop the onion?”
    “Sure. Hacking something up sounds perfect.” I grabbed a knife and cutting board.
    “Bad day?” He reached over and squeezed my shoulder. The kitchen was small enough that our hips touched as he grabbed a stockpot.
    “Saw you at lunch.” I gave him a weak smile. “So not all terrible. Just more roommate drama at home.”
    “More?”
    “Oops. I forgot to tell you.” The onion aroma stung my eyes like a penance for the lie. It wasn’t an accident that I hadn’t told him. “Seth and Mark want to buy a place in St. Johns. Small two bedroom row house.”
    “Where does that leave you and Sarah?” He put down the box of vegetable broth and came up behind me, rubbing my shoulders.
    “Sarah’s been itching to move to the Pearl, and she’s got a lead on a friend who might need a roommate. But Seth and Mark gave notice without telling the two of us, so we’ve got to scramble for something by March.”
    “That sucks. What are you going to do?” David’s fingers worked magic on my shoulders, but his question hardly had the same effect.
    “Not sure,” I mumbled. I leaned forward to chop, not shaking him off exactly but also not giving in to the urge to sink into him. “Guess it’s time to get a listing on Craigslist and start checking bulletin boards again.”
    “You don’t want your own place?”
    I want a place with you. Badly. I wanted to bring color to his brown and gray universe. For Christmas I’d gotten him a bright green picture frame with a picture of us at a Timbers game. It was now the lone spot of color in the room. I wanted to drag him to the little shops on Hawthorne I loved. Pick out paint and sheets together. Cook