Chapter 48: Is it just Cooking?

Chapter 48: Chapter 48: Is it just Cooking?

Freya held his gaze for a second longer, then let it go, not pushing any further.

Her attention drifted instead, scanning the apartment before settling on the kitchen. Untouched. No dishes out, no smell of anything cooked, the counter looked like it hadn’t been touched.

She looked back at him. "You haven’t eaten anything since school, have you?"

Garrett followed her gaze toward the kitchen, like the answer might be sitting there waiting for him. "Not yet."

Freya gave him a look, the kind that made it clear she already knew the answer before she asked the next question. "You were just going to sit here all night?"

"I was going to eat."

"When?"

Garrett opened his mouth, then paused, running through the actual plan he’d had for the evening and finding out there wasn’t much of one. "...Eventually."

"That’s not a real answer."

"It’s an answer."

"It’s a placeholder for an answer."

"So what were you going to eat, exactly?" Freya asked, arms crossing loosely as she leaned back against the couch.

"I’ll cook something."

That got her attention immediately, eyebrows lifting. "You can cook?"

Garrett looked at her, unsure what part of that was surprising. "Yeah."

She studied him for a second, clearly not convinced, then glanced around the apartment as though she were looking for some evidence that supported his claim. "You?"

"What?"

"You actually cook? Like, real food, not just cereal in a bowl."

"Occasionally," Garrett said. "I manage."

Freya’s mouth curved, amusement settling in now, the heaviness from earlier giving way to something lighter. "Alright. Prove it. What can you actually make?"

"Couple things. Stir fry. Some pasta dishes. Decent omelet if I’m not rushing it."

"An omelet." She said it flatly, like the word itself was a challenge. "That’s your big proof of culinary skill? An omelet?"

"You asked what I could make. I told you."

"I feel like anyone can technically make an omelet."

"Not a good one."

"Uh huh." She didn’t look remotely convinced, arms still crossed, watching him with the kind of skepticism that made it clear she needed to see it before she’d believe him. "We’ll see about that."

"I’m just saying," Freya went on, clearly enjoying herself now, "there’s a big difference between claiming you can cook and actually cooking. Anyone can list dishes."

"I’m aware of how words work."

"Doesn’t mean you’re aware of how a stove works."

"I use one regularly."

"To reheat things, maybe."

Garrett let out a breath, somewhere between annoyance and reluctant amusement, and finally decided the easiest way to end this was to just settle it outright.

"I’ll cook for you Friday."

That stopped her.

"Friday?" Freya repeated, like she needed to hear it again to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood.

"Friday," Garrett confirmed. "You’ll be here. That way you can’t accuse me of ordering it and passing it off."

It wasn’t dressed up as anything more than that. Just a practical solution to an argument that had gone on longer than it needed to be. But even saying it plainly, he was aware enough to know it didn’t sound like nothing, an invitation to his apartment, just the two of them, with dinner attached to it.

Freya blinked, clearly not expecting him to actually follow through on the challenge instead of just talking around it.

For a second, a small smile flickered across her face, almost hidden, before she caught it and pulled herself back into her usual tone.

"Fine," she said. "Friday, then. I’ll be here to make sure you’re not cheating."

"Wouldn’t dream of it."

"What happens if it’s terrible?" She raised an eyebrow. "Like, genuinely bad. Should I bring backup snacks just in case?"

"Then you don’t have to come back."

Freya tilted her head, catching the shape of what he’d just said a beat after he said it. "Oh, so there’s a version where I come back more than once now?"

"That depends entirely on the omelet."

"Uh huh." She smirked. "Careful. I might just show up again either way, terrible cooking or not."

"Then I guess Friday’s not really a test at all."

"Guess not," she said, the smile breaking through properly this time before she looked away, back toward the kitchen, like the conversation hadn’t just quietly shifted into something neither of them was going to name out loud.

They fell into an easy back and forth working out the details, more out of habit than necessity, since neither of them actually needed much settled beyond the day itself.

"Friday," Freya said again, like she wanted it on record. "I’ll come by after my last class."

"Fine."

"And you’re actually cooking. Not ordering something and putting it on a plate."

"I said I would."

"I’m just confirming." She pointed at him, only half joking. "I will know the difference."

"I don’t doubt it."

It wasn’t lost on him, the shift underneath the logistics. This wasn’t something happening because he needed notes or because she happened to see three men jump him on his own street. This was something they’d both agreed to on purpose, a day picked out in advance, an invitation extended and accepted without either of them needing an excuse to justify it.

Garrett didn’t dwell on it. He wasn’t the type to turn something simple into more than it needed to be.

But somewhere underneath the practical arrangement of it, he noticed he was actually looking forward to it. Not in some dramatic way. Just a quiet, steady kind of anticipation, the sort that sat there without needing to announce itself.

Freya finished putting the first aid kit back together, setting the last of it in the cabinet before grabbing her bag.

"Take it easy tonight," she said, glancing back at him as she reached the door. "Ice that side if it starts swelling more. And actually eat something before you sleep."

"I’ll manage."

"That’s not the same as saying yes."

"Yes," Garrett said, mostly to end the conversation before it turned into another argument.

She smiled at that, already halfway through the door, then paused, looking back at him one more time.

"Don’t forget Friday."

"I won’t."

She held his gaze a second longer, like she was checking whether he meant it, then nodded, satisfied, and let the door close behind her.

Garrett stood there in the quiet that followed, the apartment settling back into itself the way it always did once someone left.

He glanced toward the kitchen, empty counter, nothing prepared yet, three days out from needing to actually be ready for any of it.

Then his phone, sitting untouched on the table where he’d left it.

Then back toward the kitchen again.

He didn’t check the timer.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, it wasn’t the thing sitting at the front of his mind.

Friday was.