You Have a Match(33)

“I was in shock at first. And then—it all happened so fast, and…”

“Did you think I’d be upset or something? That you found family and I didn’t?”

I wince. The truth is, I have felt guilty about it. He took this test to find people, and now I have this sister I’m not even sure I want. This thing Leo and Connie both want so badly in their own ways is something that threw a massive wrench into my world, and I’ve been too wrapped up in what it means for me to let myself fully acknowledge what it means for him.

“Well—yeah,” I admit. “I guess that was part of it.”

“And the rest?”

He’s looking at me now, with the same patience he always has. He gives me too much room sometimes. Enough to say whatever I need to say, even if it’s something I shouldn’t.

“When I saw you on the ferry, I was going to tell you. But we got distracted, and…”

Distracted may not be the right word. But I never know what the right word is when it comes to my feelings about Leo—it’s equal parts hopeful and disappointed, these mismatched moments where I’m so certain he might want me too that are punctured in an instant by the ones where I’m sure he doesn’t. I’ve gone over that conversation we had on the ferry at least a hundred times since it happened, picked it apart from every angle, either trying to find reasons to keep hoping or to shut it all down.

I let the sentence hang there, worried he’ll press the point. Worried, but also a little bit eager. Like it’ll open a door I’m too scared to open myself. Instead he takes my hand and squeezes it briefly, a quiet forgiveness, and lets it go.

“Not gonna lie,” says Leo. “This is a weird one to wrap my head around.”

I slouch into the bench, trying not to read anything into the way Leo leans over so I’m mostly slouching against him. “You’re telling me.”

Leo reaches forward, plucking one of the gloves hanging out of my apron’s front pocket. “So … do I even want to know how this happened?”

“Probably not,” I say, taking it back from him. “This place isn’t exactly what I expected.”

Leo snorts. “Me neither. At least everything’s the same in the kitchen. Dunno if I’d want to be a camper under—what’s Finn calling it?—the ‘Reynolds Regime.’”

“Eh, today wasn’t so bad, I guess. I even made some friends.”

I smile to myself. Once Finn and I wrapped up our DIY home decor project in Savvy’s bunk and he snuck me over to the neighboring camp to get a picture from their high dive, I spent the rest of the day with the girls from Phoenix Cabin—kayaking, hiking around the trails, even playing a game of capture the flag that got us so muddy we had to shower before dinner. We were so busy I kept missing chances to call my parents, and then it was late enough that I figured I’d better put it off until tomorrow, when it wouldn’t freak them out as much.

Leo catches the tail end of the smile with a hesitant one of his own. I nudge my shoulder with his. “How have you been?”

Leo shrugs. “We’re settling in. Catching up with everyone. So far it’s mostly just me and Mickey, showing off all the new cooking tricks in our arsenals.”

“Please tell me the macadamia fried grilled cheese balls are in the mix,” I say, thinking back to when Connie came back from Christmas break in Hawaii with so many tins of macadamia nuts that I’m surprised the plane could take off.

“I’ve got that one up my sleeve for later. I’ll need a ringer for later this week. She’s been hoarding leftover ingredients in a corner of the fridge and I’ve done just enough sleuthing to think a four-meat pochero is coming.”

“So basically this kitchen turns into the set of MasterChef after dark.”

“Except Mickey’s only made me cry, like, twice.” He shifts on the bench, his legs absurdly long when splayed out next to mine. Absurdly long and absurdly close—one of his nudges mine in a way that might be accidental, but when I don’t move, it stays there in a way that definitely isn’t. “But yeah, the head chef pretty much gives us free rein of the place after dinner as long as we clean up.”

I’m about to make some crack about showing up to the kitchen to be fed every night like the stray cat I am, but I pause. Leo’s lips are tight. He’s going to say something but isn’t quite sure how to say it yet.

“And I think … well, Mickey’s dad and her aunts run their own restaurant up by the UW and she’s—it’s always been a big part of her life, you know? So I thought maybe—since being here has kind of put the brakes on the whole looking-into-my-roots thing—well, I’m gonna ask Mickey to teach me more about the Filipino dishes she’s always making.”

“Yeah?”

Leo nods, his eyes tentative and not quite meeting mine. He clears his throat and adds, “I mean, only after our annual week of cooking battles is done and I’ve established myself the clear victor.”

“So crush her emotionally with your PB&J cinnamon rolls, and then ask her for a favor.”

“Exactly.”

The laughter tapers off, and both of our smiles soften with it. He’s staring at me like he’s waiting to hear what I think. Like maybe he’s been waiting to hear what I think all day. And even if I know it doesn’t really matter what I think, it feels nice that he wants to hear it.