They finish cooking and eat

In her room, Natalie peeled off her blouse and tossed it into the hamper. Her slacks followed, pooling quietly on the floor. She hadn’t worn underwear, as she so often didn’t. The fabric had been light, and the lines too easy to show. She had a boy in school that always picked on her, saying he could see her underwear and it left her always feeling insecure if someone could actually see them or not. The top had a built-in shelf bra, enough for the office but not exactly comfortable for around the house.

She stood for a moment in the center of the room, completely bare beneath the ceiling fan light, absently rubbing at a faint red seam from her waistband on her hip.

Then she crossed to her dresser, pulling open the top drawer. Cotton bralettes. Folded underwear. Some of it plain, some of it lace she loved, but hardly had an excuse to wear. She reached toward the back, fingers brushing something smooth and hard beneath a camisole. Naturally it was one of the toys she kept tucked under everything else.

She ignored the flicker of awareness it brought, curling her hand around a pink bralette that was soft, with a scooped front and wide straps. Something comfortable.

She chose a pair of drawstring shorts and a loose tank top, the kind she’d bought for summer weekends and barely got around to wearing.

After slipping them on, she caught her reflection in the mirror above the dresser. Understated, but cute.

She checked the fit again for how the tank fell over the bralette, how the shorts sat on her hips, making sure there was nothing clingy or revealing. Just soft fabric and bare legs and a neckline that didn’t show too much.

Still, she gave a little tug at the hem to stretch it a little, just in case. She was about to stand next to Aiden again. Close enough to stir the same pot, meaning it was certainly close enough for a boy to notice things.

She walked back down the hallway, the smell of garlic and tomato meeting her halfway there. The stove was still quietly bubbling when she stepped into the kitchen, steam rising from the pot, a low sizzle from the pan beside it.

She glanced at the knobs.

“You touched the heat,” she said, mock accusation as she stepped in.

“I panicked,” he replied, lifting the spoon like a shield. “It started bubbling too loud.”

She bumped his hip with hers once more as she leaned over and turned the dial up a notch. “And what did I say about touching the heat?”

He held up a finger. “That it was strictly forbidden. But in my defense—”

“There is no defense.”

“In my defense,” he continued, undeterred, “I’m pretty sure my mom used to burn garlic on purpose.”

She turned just enough to raise a brow at him. “That’s... a cry for help.”

“I mean, she’s gotten better. Now she just buys the kind in the jar. Assuming that’s better, anyway.”

She made a face. “Tell her I’m disappointed.”

“I think she’d like that,” he said, his stirring slower now, with more confidence. “I swear, she thrives on judgment. It fuels her inner fire,” he said laughing.

Natalie shook her head and picked up the other spoon, giving the sauce a careful sweep off the bottom of the pan.

“You did okay,” she said.

He grinned. “You sound shocked.”

“I’m always shocked by you.”

“Still counts. I’ll take it.”

She stirred for a few moments in silence, watching the sauce thicken. Aiden leaned a hip against the counter beside her, arms crossed, watching her work like it was more interesting than it probably was.

“You always cook like this?” he asked.

She glanced at him sideways. “Like what?”

“Actually making an effort. Using real ingredients. Actual vegetables. You know, ambitious.”

She snorted. “This is not ambitious. This is ‘what’s left in the fridge plus a box of pasta.’”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Still more effort than I’ve ever made. Or mom has made in a long time, when it comes to cooking.”

“That’s because you’re twenty, and she’s… Lisa” she said smiling and reaching to test a noodle from the pot. “Your idea of cooking is probably heating up a burrito and calling it rustic.”

“Only if I plate it with chips,” he deadpanned.

She laughed under her breath again before moving to grab two bowls. “Grab the strainer?”

“On it,” he said, stepping toward the cupboard as she reached for the sauce.

The pot was heavier than she expected, and bubbling close to the rim. She turned, needing to carry it across the small kitchen to the counter behind him where she’d already laid out a trivet.

“Coming through,” she warned softly.

He backed up to give her room and bumped into the island behind him. Reflexively, one hand reached out and landed on her hip to steady her as she passed.

Her breath caught at the feel of his palm resting on bare skin where her tank top had ridden up along her side. Its warmth was unmistakable.

It had slipped up without her noticing, caught at the narrowest part of her waist, where her body curved inward before flaring gently at the hips and ribs. That dip had always made shirts bunch there, cinch tighter than they were meant to. She tugged them down out of habit, but hadn’t this time, distracted and unaware as they cooked.

Aiden didn’t mean to notice, but his hand had landed on that gentle curve, and for a split second, he thought about the way some of the girls in his anime shows were drawn with their exaggerated hips, cartoonish, sporting legs too long to be real.

Natalie didn’t look like that, exactly, however, she was soft in ways they weren’t. Her hips were pronounced and womanly. More developed than most of the girls he knew at school.

She was real in a way that made him forget the comparison entirely. And she had always been the comparison, even if he hadn’t admitted it until now. Her curves weren’t cartoonish, but they were more exaggerated than most, and impossible not to notice.

He let go as she took her next step, but the shape of her stayed in his palm longer than it had any right to. The kitchen was narrow causing her to brush against him as she passed. There was no ignoring that her shorts were loose, and the curve of her backside grazed the top of his thigh as she moved across his front. It was light contact, soft enough and clearly accidental, but it was also low enough to make him briefly freeze. In that moment, he could feel himself start to swell against his pants shift before she cleared him entirely. Thankful it should be to subtle for her to notice at least.

She set the pot down on the waiting potholder. He exhaled, as the tension started to leave him. She didn’t look back as she reached for the spoon again from its holder near the stove.

“Pasta’s ready,” she said, like nothing had happened.

“Yeah,” he replied, voice a little rougher than before. “Looks good.”

They moved through the next few motions of draining, plating, and sprinkling cheese. But something had changed which neither of them acknowledged. Nor did they likely want to.

They carried their bowls to the table, settling into the same chairs they always did, diagonally across from each other, close enough, unseparated, yet far enough not to crowd each other.

For a few minutes, neither said anything. Aiden glanced up once and caught her doing the same. Their eyes met for half a second before looking away again.

She looked back at her bowl.

“Good?” she asked casually, yet her voice was unusually high.

“Really good,” he said, nodding. “And not just because I stirred the hell out of it.”

She smiled but didn’t laugh.

Then he added, “Although—I feel like I deserve some kind of medal for surviving contact with boiling sauce and a hot woman in shorts,” He was trying to break the tension once more, by calling out the elephant in the room.

Natalie paused, fork in midair, eyes narrowing. “Did you just call me hot and yourself a victim in the same sentence?”

He grinned. “I’m just saying—I stayed calm under pressure.”

She snorted, finally letting the laugh out. “You bumped into a countertop and grabbed me like I was falling off a cliff.”

“I saved your life. That’s how I remember it.”

She shook her head, laughing into her wine glass. “You’re lucky you didn’t end up wearing that sauce.”

Their eyes met again, this time without any hesitation.

And just like that, the tension cracked. Not entirely gone, but unquestionably softened by humor. The incident now felt like the kind that could be ignored for a little while longer at the very least.

Aiden twirled a forkful of pasta, still grinning. “Okay, so no medal. Do I at least get my certificate in beginner-level domestic competence?”

Natalie tilted her head, giving him a faux-serious once-over. “Hmm. I don’t know. Stirring one pot and not ruining it doesn’t exactly make you a chef. Not even entry level.”

He pointed at his bowl. “This pot was stirred with precision. Artistry.”

“It was stirred,” she agreed, deadpan.

He feigned offense again. “Geez. Harsh review from the head of the academy.”

“You want your certificate?” she said, leaning forward slightly. “You’re gonna need at least three more supervised lessons. And no jarred garlic,” she finished pointing her fork at him.

“Three?” he asked in exasperation. “This is a racket.”

“Good cooking takes time.”

He gave a dramatic sigh, then raised his water glass toward her. “To time, then.”

She touched her glass to his with a soft clink. “And supervision.”

Aiden leaned back slightly, that grin still tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Man… you really do like telling twenty-year-olds what to do.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Only the ones living in my house.”

That hit harder than it should’ve.

He felt a twitch low, and unexpected. Not from the line itself, but the way she said it. It had a dry teasing quality. Almost indulgent.

He shifted slightly in his chair, trying not to make it obvious, muttering under his breath, “I can live with that.”

She caught just enough to hear him say something. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, stabbing another bite of pasta like it had wronged him.

She smirked. “You better be able to live with it, if you’re gonna live here.”

His smile returned only smaller this time.

“I’m a quick learner,” he replied.

She didn’t respond right away. The innuendo wasn’t lost on her, but she chose to ignore it. Surely, he was still talking about the cooking.

Right?

She took another bite instead, giving him a kind of look that could pass for amused disinterest, before adding a smile.

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