“It’s…” Was that a compliment? “I appreciate you feeding me. That’s my point.”

Ashley’s back faces me as he digs out utensils, grabs plates. “I learned to cook at school.”

“Boarding school?”

He stirs the veggies with a wooden spoon. “Indeed.”

Who says indeed instead of yes?

This guy.

“Well it smells delicious.” I glance around. “Should I grab anything else?”

“Salt and pepper?”

I shoot up, opening the cabinet next to the stove until I find the condiments. Place them on the island, feeling like I need to be doing more.

Snap my fingers. “Napkins!”

“Thank you.”

“What about water?” I ask, fishing glasses out of the cupboard.

“Please.”

Ashley Jones is so polite.

More polite than any human I’ve ever met, which only makes me wonder about his upbringing.

Boarding schools.

That must mean he was taught etiquette? Don’t they do that there? Drill manners into them?

I also wonder what kind of boarding school—aren’t there varying degrees? There must be, though I don’t have any knowledge about it. I’d do a search on the internet if I wanted to know more about him, but going down a rabbit hole right now would be weird, wouldn’t it?

We eat in silence after he’s done serving us, both starving.

Chewing.

It doesn’t feel strange at all not to be talking—the silence is easier than I would have thought.

Comfortable.

Companionable.

Is that a thing? It should be.

The dinner he’s cooked is decent: simple chicken that’s tender, veggies that taste fresh from a farmer’s market. As if he’d go vegetable shopping for little ol’ me—yeah right.

“Your place is really great, Ashley.” I lick my lips and wipe them with a napkin, sitting back in my chair.

“But?”

I can’t imagine what he’d want for rent on a place like this, and asking seems so rude. The fact that I’m too scared to even ask is ridiculous—this is business, not personal. What fool enters into a contract without knowing the details?

I set down my fork. “But I just don’t think I can afford it.”

Brows shooting up, he mirrors my pose, leaning back in his chair, setting down his fork.

“How do you know? You haven’t even asked me what the rent is.”

My mouth opens.

Closes.

I feel like a guppy trying to breathe out of water, so out of my element.

Negotiating isn’t my thing; numbers aren’t my thing.

I’m terrible at math and fractions and debating.

“I just assumed…” I want to bury my head, but there’s no place to hide.

“What are you paying now?”

“Um.”

Ashley cocks his head to study me. “Georgie, have you even tried to figure it out?”

“I’m bad at math,” I utter weakly.

If a guy’s eyes could bug out of his skull, his would be doing it now as he gawks at me.

“Do you want to move out of the dorms or not? I already told you how easy it would be. All you have to do is give them written notice by filling out the form. It’s idiot-proof.”

Is he calling me an idiot?

Hard to know with that British accent; it seems to make everything he says sound like he’s a bit bored.

“Yes I want to move out of the dorms, it’s just…” I pick up the fork again and begin pushing carrots around my plate—like a child. “Like I said, I can’t afford rent and cable and utilities and…and trash removal. And…snow removal.”

“Snow removal,” Ashley deadpans. “Are you being serious?”

I shrug.

“Georgia, if you don’t want to live here, have the balls to say it.”

I do want to live here—that’s the problem!

Frustrated with myself, I stab the orange carrot that’s loose on my plate and pop it into my mouth, chewing to avoid responding.

I’m making a mess of this the same way I make a mess of everything.

“I told you to find out how much the dorms cost.”

His tone annoys me, and I shoot him a sharp glance. “I know that, Dad, but thanks for reminding me. Again.”

Ashley is still leaning back in his chair, belting out a laugh—at my expense, mind you—mouth wide open, white teeth flashing. They’re not all straight and perfect, but they’re perfectly dazzling.

“Dad?” He snorts. “That’s brilliant. Oh I love that.” He’s chuckling to himself as he wields a steak knife and cuts his chicken the proper way instead of sawing into it with his fork as I did with mine.

I blush. “Glad I could amuse you.”

“You do amuse me, Georgie Parker, or I wouldn’t want to live with you.”

I can tell he’s thinking, constructing a statement in his mind by the way he’s staring at the window, squinting and chewing in the way people do when they’re thinking about what to say next.

He swallows.

Dabs at his mouth.

“I’m prepared to beat whatever you’re paying now by two hundred dollars.”

“You don’t know what I’m paying now.”

“So?” He smirks. “Neither do you.”

Touché. “This isn’t a time for sarcasm, Ash, but I appreciate the effort.”

“Isn’t it though?”

I huff stubbornly. “Do you honestly think you can seduce me by lowering my rent by two hundred dollars?”

“Uh, you’d be a nodcock not to accept it. And I’m not seducing you—this is a business arrangement only.”

My cheeks flush. “You know I didn’t mean that literally.”

“I know you didn’t,” he says, taking another bite of chicken. “But I like seeing you get red.”

Oh my god, why is he like this?

“Use of the garage gym, a fully furnished bedroom—and that mattress is new, by the way. No one has slept on it.”

“I was going to ask that—why is the room full of furniture when you live here alone?”

“Mum keeps intending to come for a holiday, and she refuses to sleep on a mattress ‘soiled by college children.’ Her words, not mine. But, the one time she did visit, she booked a room at a swank hotel.” Ashley rolls his eyes. “She did take me to Target and Costco when she was here, which seems like an American mum thing to do.”

It is. “My mom takes me grocery shopping when she visits, although…” I clear my throat. “She hasn’t been here yet. It’s too far.”

Too far.

I want to facepalm myself.

Why am I telling him about my parents being too far when his are clear across the ocean? Do I sound like I’m whining? Or ungrateful?

“You’re not a first-year anymore—this is what happens when you become an adult. Mum and Dad cut the cord. You feel rubbish because you’re still living in the dorms.”

Rubbish?

What the hell is that all about?

“Don’t give me that face. You know it’s true.”

My mouth gapes open, but I snap it shut because it’s bad manners.