Chapter 35

BUSTED

35

Unfortunately, the later time is not the next day. On Sunday, I have a stupid conference all day that I can't miss, and he works a night shift. I try to stay awake and wait for him, but pass out shortly after midnight. Monday is the same. I work during the day and he at night. We barely see each other.

But Tuesday is our night. Killian has worked a day shift. So he should be home when I get back from campus. Before leaving the house this morning, I've scrubbed, shaved, moisturized, and I'm wearing pretty underwear just in case.

Only when I step into the apartment that night, Killian greets me at the door with a weird expression.

"We have company," he announces, uncertain.

I give him a blank look. "Company?"

"Hey, you." I hear Ivy's voice calling from behind Killian. "You've kept secrets." There's a hint of accusation in her voice. Oh my gosh, Oliver and I just announced the news of our fake breakup yesterday, so she must be thinking I've been cheating on her boyfriend's brother this entire time.

I lean sideways to peek past the six-foot-four wall of man in my entryway, and sure enough find my best friend seated at the kitchen counter sipping what looks like a fancy pink cocktail in one of our definitely not fancy IKEA glasses.

"Hey." I force a smile on my face before hiding back behind Killian and sending him a panicked look. Ivy is going to interrogate us, and, besides the Oliver thing that I'll have to come clean about now, Killian and I haven't gotten our stories straight. I completely forgot to come up with an appropriate meet-cute anecdote. Oh, gosh.

I hang my jacket on the rack behind the door and wipe my clammy palms on my jeans before I go to Ivy for a hug.

She squeezes me tight and then pulls back, giving me a once-over. "You look amazing," she declares, her eyes not so subtly shifting to Killian. "Have you changed your diet or something?"

"Ah, ah. Hilarious. You look fantastic too, as always." I scratch my head. "Err—how come you dropped by?"

Ivy takes a sip of her cocktail and gives me a sly smile. "I wanted to see how you were faring after the breakup with Oliver." She drops a hand on my forearm. "He told George he'd met someone else, a man, and that you'd also met someone else. But you hadn't mentioned anything in your text about meeting someone, so I thought you'd made up that last part to save face." Then, with a theatrical sigh and a little squeeze to my arm, she adds, "But I see my worries were unfounded." Her eyes flicker to Killian once again, who, in the meantime, has moved into the kitchen and is making dinner.

He looks devastatingly hot even with his back turned to us as he chops vegetables on a board.

"I—uh—yeah," I stammer. "It's been an interesting couple of weeks."

Ivy crosses her arms and stares at me expectantly. In a way that says, "Fess up."

Since Oliver has already told his family about being bisexual, I tell her everything. But still ask that she keeps the fake dating from George. I don't know if Oliver wants his brother to know. But, either way, I can't keep lying to my best friend.

I'm afraid she's going to get mad, but instead Ivy surprises me by apologizing. "I'm sorry, I totally went coupled wise human on you, didn't I?"

I smile because, yeah, she did. But then my gaze is drawn to Killian, and I whisper, "I might be a wise coupled human myself now."

Following my gaze, Ivy lowers her chin conspiratorially and mouths a WOW.

Yeah, because there are no other words to describe my boyfriend in all his chef glory.

Killian, probably sensing the silent communication between Ivy and me, turns around with a smirk, his hands still busy at work. "Hope you don't mind, I thought I'd make us dinner," he says casually, as though his presence was the most natural thing in the world.

Ivy's eyebrows arch up in a mixture of surprise and intrigue. "A gal could eat." As Ivy's gaze shifts from me to Killian, it's clear she's about to launch into a full-on analysis of us. I scowl at her, silently communicating that no boy talk should take place in front of Killian.

Killian, sensing the tension, wipes his hands on a dish towel and leans against the kitchen bar, all casual confidence and half smiles. "Leighton doesn't want to discuss me if I'm in the room," he says, a warm chuckle in his voice.

"Why?" Ivy asks, 100 per cent charmed.

"Because she'd have only good things to say, and she's afraid my ego will burst out of proportion." He looks at me, eyes holding a sparkle that suggests he's thoroughly enjoying this little game of cat-and-mouse. And I might be positively melting also because this is the first time I've heard him use my real name. No Spoon, no Gertrude. "But between us, she really thinks I'm quite the catch," he teases, with a wink thrown in my direction.

Ivy laughs, the sound rich and carefree. "Oh, I bet she does."

From a pitcher, Killian pours me a cocktail like the one Ivy's drinking.

"What's this?" I ask.

"New recipe I'm testing for the bar. Tell me if you like it."

With that, he knocks twice on the bar and goes back to his cooking.

I take a sip of the cocktail and it's the perfect combination of sweet and zesty with an aftertaste of spice that lingers just a moment on the tongue—a hint of mystery that Killian seems to infuse in everything he does.

Ivy watches me with an expectant expression, waiting for my verdict. "It's… fantastic," I admit, not sure if I'm talking about the drink or the barman.

"Noted, Spoon."

At the use of my pet name, Ivy's hand goes over her heart, and I swear she's this close to awwing.

I know I should enjoy this moment, when I finally get to introduce my boyfriend to the world, but I'm too nervous about Ivy stumbling onto impossible-to-explain truths, so I move the spotlight away from us. "How have things been with you and George?"

"Oh, great. He's fantastic. I cannot believe I would've never met him if not for a late-night craving. Sometimes I still wake up with a nightmare that I'm single and have to go on blind dates…" Before Killian magically turned real, this declaration would've sunk me. But now I can finally bear it and join Ivy in hoping our Tinder days are behind us once and for all. "But then I wake up, and he's right there next to me, looking impossibly gorgeous as he sleeps, and I can take a breath of relief."

I feel the same way every morning that I wake up and Killian is in bed with me, or if he's not there, when he comes back from the bakery around the corner to deliver our cinnamon roll treat—he's cut down his indulging to a single bun per day.

I smile fondly. Oh my gosh, I must have the rainbow and unicorns look on my face. I really am a wise coupled human.

I silently make a vow that if I ever have to discuss my feelings for Killian with a friend who's still single, I'll try my best not to rub my happiness in their faces.

"We're spending so many nights at each other's places that we're considering moving in together," Ivy continues. That's when her eyes drift to the built-in closet, specifically to the open half that used to be hers and that is now filled with Killian's clothes.

Her jaw goes slightly slack, and she looks at me with a million questions on her face.

I'm already sweating cold, wondering how I'm going to explain that I'm living with a guy I haven't known for that long when there's a whoosh sound, and flames leap up from the pan Killian's handling. My heart jumps to my throat as the smoke detector activates at the flambé attempt gone wrong. The last thing I need is for the sprinklers to go off and soak the entire apartment.

"Killian, turn that off!" I shout, glaring at the still flaming pan in his hands.

He blows on it. But the fire in the pan is stubborn, dancing merrily as if to mock us. With a curse, Killian grabs the pan and, with no other options, shoves it under the running water in the sink. A cloud of steam erupts, accompanied by the hiss of the dying flame. The scent of char mingles with the now wet smoke filling the apartment while dinner is ruined.

We all scramble to open the windows, letting the cold evening air rush in to disperse the smoke. I climb onto a chair and also disarm the smoke detector just in case. Heart pounding in my chest, I'm grateful at least that the emergency sprinklers haven't gone off and turned our apartment into a soggy mess.

Once we're sure the crisis is averted, Killian turns to me, a sheepish yet apologetic grin spreading across his face. "Well, that didn't go as planned," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "How about I go grab us some takeout instead? Are tacos good?"

I can't help but laugh, the tension easing from my shoulders. "Tacos are great." I also can't help giving him a kiss before he goes out.

The moment he's gone, Ivy wheels on me as if the flambé accident never happened and asks, "Are you living together? Already?"

I stare back at the half of the closet filled with male clothes. At least the emergency break has given me time to come up with a plausible explanation. "Only temporarily," I say. "He tried to fix the dishwasher at his place and flooded the house. He's a typical man, convinced he's handy and can fix anything when he can't." I point at the taped-over bathroom door for confirmation.

"Uh, so how is it living with a man?"

I smile. "If you don't mind sitting on the toilet rim from time to time because they forgot to put the seat back down, it's not that bad at all."

We chuckle and lay the plates while we wait for Killian to come back. As per the lack of a table in the apartment and with us having only two bar stools, we set the kitchen bar. I then remove my laptop from the small desk and drop it on the bed. Ivy and I lift the desk and bring it closer to the bar, so we can all dine in the same area.

Killian arrives shortly after and distributes the tacos.

We all scarf down a few bites before Ivy asks, "So, how did you two meet?"

Panic swells in my chest again. Killian and I haven't discussed our origin story. I completely forgot to come up with a plausible scenario, and whatever we tell Ivy now, it's what is going to stick—forever. We can't tell the real story, but I still want our official meet-cute narrative to be epic. I will spare my non-existent single friends the saccharine, but the "coupled wise humans" that have taunted me for years with their perfect relationships bliss? No! I want to rub my happiness in their faces as much as possible. I want my meet-cute to beat all of their meet-cutes.

Only, of course, my mind goes completely blank now.

My mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out.

From his place at the desk, Killian drops his fork and wipes his mouth on a paper napkin, his lips twisted in an amused grin as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

"Mind if I take this one, Sugar?"

"No." I play nonchalant. "I know you love to tell the story."

Killian nods. "It all started with a book…" he begins, and then, with a wink at me, he launches into a tale that I'm as eager as Ivy to hear.