Chapter 8

“You don’t have to pander to me,” he said. “I’m not a child.”

“Never said you were.”

“I don’t want to put you out in your own home.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Yes, it is.” Alex set down the knife and looked him in the eye. “You’re already being generous enough without letting my anxieties interrupt your life further.”

“So your plan is for me to be the asshole who doesn’t care? Look, I don’t get this stuff, but that doesn’t mean I want you to be uncomfortable.” Waiting another five minutes for dinner was no big deal in the scheme of things.

“I spend a large part of my life uncomfortable. I’ll manage. This is my problem, not yours.”

An alarm buzzed on Alex’s phone. He grabbed mitts and took a baking sheet out of the oven, then rummaged in one of Tom’s drawers. “Where’s your meat thermometer? I thought it was in here.”

“I sometimes put it in the drawer to the left.”