Tulip is asking me questions about battery life and electrical conduits, but I can’t help watching North move around the kitchen out of the corner of my eye, this rough and tumble fighter who is in the act of making dinner. Cooking an actual meal. His shirt is back on, a tragedy, but I console myself by cataloguing his other parts. His forearms flex as he grinds pepper into a bowl of ground meat. His brow furrows in concentration when measuring out the right amount of pasta, snapping it over the bubbling water.
I’ve never been more comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time.
I’m relaxed in this apartment. Doing a science project while the scent of tomato and meat and oregano teases my senses. It’s warm here. Welcoming. It’s nothing like my sterile and oftentimes hostile home in Beacon Hill. It’s the people that make a home, obviously. And North has turned this into a functional, happy space for his sister. I feel lucky to be here. Happy. Like I’ve stepped into a bear hug.
There is also the great discomfort that comes from being anywhere near North.
He’s so much more mature than any boy I’ve been around. He’s not a boy—he’s a man. There’s an air of capability and strength and confidence to him that makes my body feverish. What he said to me on the phone Saturday morning is making more and more sense. My female parts know something my brain doesn’t quite comprehend yet. I’m sensitive between my thighs, my every movement seems to set off a series of tingles. Down my spine, in my nipples, along the line of my neck. My thoughts are kind of fuzzy because all I can think about is his voice saying “it’s time to put it in.”
Tulip commands my attention and we work on her research paper, our heads bent together. She tells me funny stories about her science teacher and I return the favor with some of my own. North’s little sister has a depth of knowledge in her eyes I’m positive I didn’t have at thirteen, but she’s also silly and outspoken and honest. I like her a lot.
I don’t realize how much time has passed until North sets down a bowl of pasta in front of me and I glance up from the textbook, noticing the glow of an orange sunset through the kitchen window. “Thank you,” I murmur, almost biting off my tongue when he takes a seat to my left and squeezes my thigh under the table. “Do you cook every night?”
“Mostly, yeah,” North says, twirling his fork in the pungent pasta. “Sometimes we grab sandwiches from the deli if I can’t make it to the store.”
“Those are my favorite nights,” Tulip sighs. “No chance of food poisoning.”
North throws a wadded-up napkin across the table and it bounces off his sister’s forehead. “You love my cooking.”
“Ah, it’s decent, I guess.”
They smile at each other and my heart almost plonks onto the floor.
“Do you cook?” Tulip asks me.
“D-do I cook?” I repeat, the back of my neck prickling with heat. “Um…no. I’ve never cooked anything, actually. We go to the club. Or…there’s always just food in the refrigerator.”
As soon as those ignorant-sounding words come out of my mouth, I want to take them back. Tulip pauses in the middle of chewing. “Who makes the food?”
I’m suddenly a fish out of water, flopping around on the dock. “Our chef,” I admit quietly, digging into my pasta. “She comes three times a week. Makes fresh meals on those nights and leaves easy heat-up ones for the others.”
“Wow,” breathes Tulip. “Your parents must have stupid money. That’s what North calls it, because too much money makes people forget how to do basic things for themselves.”
“Tulip,” he growls, setting down his fork. “I didn’t say that about your family,” he rushes to explain, his hand back on my thigh under the table. “I probably said that years ago. Never about you, Gracie.”
“It’s okay,” I say, laughing to break the sudden tension. “There’s some truth to the phrase stupid money. I don’t think the Fosters would win any survival competitions. They’d drop us off on the desert island and we’d ask for directions to the spa.”
Tulip giggles around her bite of spaghetti.
North gives me a look heavy with apology and I shake my head to let him know I’m not offended. “Maybe your brother can teach me how to cook.”
A smile tilts his lips on one side.
His hand moves higher on my thigh. “I’ve got a lot of teaching to do, don’t I?”
The question seems innocent or related to cooking, but the two of us know it isn’t. And I eat the rest of my meal highly aware of North’s big massaging hand on my thigh. I can’t help but think this is the beginning of what we’re going to do together later. Almost like he’s preparing me. Turning my legs limber and moistening me in that private place. Foreplay.
“This was amazing,” I say unevenly, after taking my last bite.
He winks at me, his thumb digging gently into my inner thigh. “Thanks.”
“My night to clean up,” Tulip sing-songs, collecting the dishes from the table. “I have to hurry. Naya is going to FaceTime me in like five minutes.”
“Naya is one of her friends,” North explains to me, before addressing his sister again. “I’m going to take Grace out for a walk. You good here for a while?”
Tulip is already sailing from the room, calling, “I’m good,” over her shoulder.
“A walk?”
North pulls me to my feet, planting a kiss on my forehead. “Uh-huh. Come on.”
Excitement dances in my belly as we leave the apartment, North locking it behind us. But we don’t go down the stairs, we go up three more flights, then out onto the roof. The cool night air does nothing to cool my flushed skin, still so warm from North’s attention at dinner. And it doesn’t help when he threads our fingers together, pulling me close for a long, promissory kiss, his mouth slanting hungrily over mine.
“Goddamn, I love you sitting at my table. Eating food I made myself.”
Speaking of spaghetti, my knees suddenly have the consistency of wet noodles. “I love it, too,” I manage. “Kind of like…the grown-up version of playing house.”
“A lot more grown up, if you want, beauty,” His eyes are hot on mine, glittering and dark. Hungry. “I’m going to take you somewhere we can be alone. You good with that?”
I’ve barely nodded before North is pulling me along, to the edge of the roof.
“Watch your step, Gracie,” he says, holding me by the waist and helping me step across the slight gap between buildings. And then we’re simply walking across rooftops in the fading orange light of sunset. It’s magical. Holding the hand of this young man I’m rapidly falling in love with, allowing him to lead me on an adventure in this unfamiliar place, so far from my upper-crust zip code and all the expectations that comes along with it.
We’re walking for about five minutes when North stops outside of a steel door located on one of the roofs. He lets go of my hand and produces something metal from his pocket, using it to jimmy the lock. It pops open, groaning on its hinges, and North guides me into the near darkness, smirking back over his shoulder. “Having second thoughts?”
“No,” I admit quietly. “Is that crazy?”