raised an eyebrow, as if he expected more of an explanation, but she didn’t want to explain her eating habits to him. She didn’t really want to explain anything to him. She wanted to hold a grudge against him, but that was considerably more difficult when he was looking at her like that.
“Actually, now that I think about it, I haven’t eaten yet either.” He looked away.
What now? Was she supposed to offer him some of the plain chicken and broccoli she was about to eat?
“I would offer to feed you, but I’m a terrible cook,” she said.
He frowned. “I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
She angled her gaze in his direction. “Why?”
He lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, as if he’d made the comment without thinking.
“Are you here for a reason or . . . ?” Her nerves were distracting her as she mentally tried to sort out what it was that was causing them. Him or the anticipation of what he might say? Had the boys on the team changed their minds? What else could they possibly have to discuss?
“Kind of,” he said. “Want me to make you dinner?”
Her eyes shot to his. “What?”
“You said you’re not a good cook.”
“I’m not.”
Another shrug. “I am.”
“Really?”
“Surprised?”
“I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
“Why not?” He almost smiled. Almost.
And it almost made her lose her breath. Now, she shrugged. Was he actually being nice to her?
“The kitchen’s back here, right?” He turned.
She followed him into the mostly white room and stopped at the counter where she’d started preparing the plain dinner.
“What were you going to make?”
This was weird. Having him here, asking her questions, being nice to her—it was weird. Plus, she really didn’t want to tell him what she was going to make. She glanced at the counter. “Chicken and broccoli.”
“I see that,” he said. “Were you going to stir-fry it?”
“I was going to toss it in oil, put it on a pan, and stick it in the oven.” The same way she’d done a million times before.
He opened the refrigerator. “Think Lucy will mind if we use some of her food?”
“I bought most of that,” Charlotte said.
“So I can use it?”
She shrugged. “I guess. But really, you don’t have to do this.”
“I don’t mind,” he said. “You brought breakfast the other day.”
“Donuts are not breakfast.” She sat on the stool on the opposite side of the island from where he had now set out the fresh asparagus and sugar snap peas she’d just bought earlier that day at the farmers’ market. “Besides, you didn’t seem all that impressed with that offering.”
Without him moving his head, his eyes darted to hers. He stopped messing with the food. “I’m sorry about that.”
She held her hands up. She hadn’t meant to say it. She definitely didn’t want to talk about it—especially not with him. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not.” He flicked on the faucet and ran water over the vegetables, then set them on a cutting board back on the island and started chopping. “I’m not great with people.”
“That’s surprising.” She didn’t hide the fake sarcasm in her tone.
This time, he actually laughed. It was short-lived and probably more like a chuckle, but it was a sign of amusement. And that was a win.
“Before you finish this meal, you should know I have a lot of dietary restrictions.”
He found a mallet and started pounding the chicken breasts she’d taken out of the fridge. “Like what?”
“No dairy. No bread. No sugar.”
“That’s a lot of no’s.”
“I basically eat meat, fruit, and vegetables. Nuts, seeds.”
“What do you do for dessert?” He’d stopped with the mallet now and stared at her. She found his eyes on her to be unsettling.
“Apples. Grapes. Strawberries.”
“Sounds decadent.”
She shifted. This wasn’t a good topic for her. Her head spun back in time to the day Marcia caught her with a canister of peanut butter and a whole package of chocolate pudding Snack Packs. Her mom had been livid, launching into a heated diatribe about the perils of junk food and why ballerinas weren’t ever allowed to eat it, and then she took Charlotte to the gym and made her run on the treadmill for an hour straight.
She hadn’t had sugar since.
“It’s always been my job to stay in shape.” She didn’t know what else to say—this was why she was considered an “elite” athlete. She didn’t do things that made sense to other people. He probably thought she was a freak.
“Like Tom Brady,” he said.
She frowned.
“I mean, he has a really strict regimen and look at him.”