Allie
By the third time Chase cooked in my apartment, Mia had stopped pretending she was not judging him.
She stood near the kitchen counter with a glass of juice in one hand, watching as he measured pasta into a pot with the serious concentration of someone preparing for a championship game.
“That is too much,” she said.
Chase did not look up. “It is enough for three people.”
“It is enough for eight.”
“You said you were hungry.”
“I said I had not eaten since lunch. I did not say I was feeding an entire team.”
He glanced toward me. “Is she always like this?”
“Yes.”
Mia smiled. “She means helpful.”
“I did not.”
I sat on one of the stools beside the counter, cutting vegetables while trying not to laugh. Chase had insisted on cooking dinner to prove the meal at his house had not b
