hopeless romantic • taylor swift

CHAPTER FIVE

MONROE

The microwave in the break room dinged. With my fork between my lips, I carried the steaming container to the round table in the corner. Lunch wasn't fancy—none of my meals were fancy these days—but my mouth watered as I stirred the yellow noodles before blowing on a bite. I had the fork raised to my lips when a long body filled the doorframe.

"What is that?" Taylor asked.

I set my utensil down and glanced at myself. "What?"

"What are you eating?"

"Macaroni and cheese." Duh. I bit back the smart-ass remark and didn't point out that most chefs were familiar with the concept of mac 'n' cheese. I was treading lightly where Taylor was concerned. Well . . . where everyone was concerned but especially her.

It had been nearly a week since our coffee collision, and I'd only seen her in passing. Until I had a replacement rental lined up, I was giving Taylor a very wide berth.

Apartment hunting had been unsuccessful at best. Every Thursday when the local newspaper came out, I scoured the classifieds for a listing, but nothing new was available. I'd called the real estate office in town, hoping they might have a lead, but the woman I'd spoken to had no information and she'd warned me that rentals in my price range grew ever scarcer through winter.

Eviction was not an option. Avoiding Taylor would be the key to staying in her loft until spring.

I'd spent the past weekend resting and playing with Alessandro. We'd braved the grocery store for some essentials and then I'd taken him to a local park for a walk beneath the colorful fall trees. I'd walked into my Monday morning shift with more energy than I'd had in weeks. But today was Thursday and Alessandro had been up last night for three hours.

Taylor needed to leave me alone so I could scarf these simple carbohydrates in the hopes they'd give me a boost to finish the day.

She had a pen and notepad in one hand. The sleeves of her chef's coat were pushed up her forearms like she always seemed to do, and even though it was a fairly shapeless garment, it molded to her curves and shoulders.

My heart did its little Taylor-induced trill. No matter how many times I saw her, she stole my breath away. Even when she was glowering at my food.

"What kind of macaroni and cheese?" she asked.

Was that a trick question? "Um . . . the regular kind you buy at the grocery store?"

Austin appeared behind Taylor's shoulder, pushing past her into the room. "Hey. What's going on?"

Taylor tossed a hand in my direction. "I came in to inventory the coffee supply. She's eating macaroni and cheese."

Austin's gaze, the same striking color as his sister's, darted to my lunch. He cringed. "Oh. Is, um . . . is that the blue box kind?"

"Yes."

He scrunched up his nose, then turned and disappeared down the hallway.

"What's wrong with the blue box kind?" It was the cheapest. And I was using my dollars wisely.

One day, I'd move out of Taylor's loft. One day, I'd like to have my own home. One day, I'd like to have a garden and a fenced yard where Alessandro could have a puppy.

One day.

If I was going to make it to that one day, it would require sacrifices like blue box mac 'n' cheese and ramen noodles.

Taylor walked over, straight into my space, and I tilted up my chin to keep her face in view. She frowned and swiped up my plastic container, walking it to the garbage can in the corner. One tap on the side and my noodles went plopping to the bottom of the black liner.