THE SLOPES | shawmila

two.

She followed him through to the kitchen, feeling her jaw drop again. It was huge, an island counter in the center and stainless steel appliances.

"Wow, this is huge!" Camila said. "Probably a complete dream for someone who likes to cook."

"Exactly." He grinned, opening the fridge and taking out several bowls and containers, all with saran wrap stretched over the top.

She peeled back the corners as he set them on the counter and looked inside. Most were just lumped together ingredients or chopped produce.

"You can actually cook?" She looked up in surprise.

"Yeah." He smiled. "I work at a restaurant, but I like the cooking and baking in my free time better. I find it fun and soothing. And usually Aaliyah helps, but I guess she's busy."

"Well, what do I need to do?" Camila asked.

"Hmm..." He grabbed some of the bowls and looked in, tearing off the wrap and opening a drawer for a spoon. "Okay, you can stir this—"

Camila sat up on the counter, her feet dangling over the edge, and grabbed the bowl. Whatever it was smelled strongly of cinnamon. She gave it a gentle stir, watching as he set a pot on the stove.

"This is gonna be butter rum, which sounds weird, but it's really good to drink when it's cold."

"I could definitely use it. I'm so not used to snow."

"I like it." He smiled. "Reminds me of...a long time ago."

Camila wondered if he was thinking of Canada. She knew his family still went back a lot—Sofia moped around the house when her best friend would be gone that week. She wanted to ask, but she wasn't sure what to say.

"This is gonna be balsamic...this is...for later..." He was looking through the bowls now, deciding what could go back in the fridge. "Does touching food gross you out?"

"Like touching raw meat? I guess not."

"Okay, let's wash our hands and we can start on the chicken."

She put down the bowl and hopped down as Shawn turned on the water and pushed up his sleeves. Her eyes drifted from the tattoo on his hand to the one on his forearm as another buried memory surfaced.

She remembered being crammed in the auditorium at school, boredom settling in as the talent show seemed to drag on. She remembered giggling with her friends, whispering and laughing and ignoring whoever was on stage.

Then Shawn was up. Camila fell silent for just a moment, some joke to her friend lost as she watched him take the stage with just a guitar.

She remembered being pleasantly surprised, she sounded really good. She almost didn't want to look away. She should be polite, after all, it was her sister's friend's brother... but then someone had poked her in the back and whispered a joke and she laughed, turning back to her friends as if the trance was broken.

Shawn finished washing his hands, grabbing a paper towel as Camila blinked, forcing her thoughts back to the present as she quickly scrubbed her hands and went to help.

They made small talk as Shawn showed her what to do with the chicken. It didn't feel gross at all, just cold mostly. She found Shawn was easy to talk to, there was just enough familiarity there that he didn't feel like a complete stranger.

He made her laugh a lot, which she wasn't expecting. He seemed not to expect it either—his eyebrows raising when she giggled.

She had her hands deep in a bowl of raw chicken and buttermilk when her phone on the counter vibrated. She craned her neck, gasping when she saw Nick's name.