Inseparable by Missy Johnson

That was a nice way of dropping into the conversation he lived alone, not that it surprised me. According to Kella after he dropped out, he also dropped out of his crowd of friends. I so desperately wanted to know what that was all about, but I was afraid to ask. I was afraid pressuring him would push him away. Right now I wanted to do all I could to push him toward me.
    “You’ve never considered a roommate?” I asked innocently. Yes, so I was still fishing, not that I actually expected him to reveal anything. He seemed hell bent on keeping his activity last year far from our conversation topics.
    “I like my space,” He answered, heading back into the kitchen, “I like not having to worry about anyone else, you know?” I did, I knew exactly what he meant. As much as I lived living with Kella, there were times when you just wanted to be selfish and not have to consider the other person’s feelings.
    “Sometimes I feel like that,” I admitted, carrying my coke into the kitchen to watch him cook. “Other times, I love the company. I guess part of that comes from growing up, always around Abby.” He lifted the lid on the pan on the stove, the smell of creamy chicken making my stomach growl. He hid a smile, turning back to the oven to get the potatoes.
    “Hungry?” He asked, piling the potatoes onto a serving dish. I nodded, trying to cover up another stomach growl.
    “You couldn’t tell?” I asked dryly, holding my hands out for the potatoes. He handed them to me, his fingers brushing mine, purposely, from the way his eyes locked with mine. I carried them and my drink to the set table, Dane following me with the chicken and vegetables.
    “This looks amazing, Dane. I’m impressed,” And it did, I couldn’t wait to dig in. He motioned for me to start, as he went back to the counter for the pitcher of water. Piling my plate high with food, I was far from shy when it came to my appetite. Dane grinned, watching me as I took my first mouthful. God it was delicious. Perfectly cooked chicken breast, and the roast potatoes were crispy on the outside, while soft and fluffy inside. Exactly as they should be.
    “Freaking delicious. You can cook for me anytime,” I said, covering my mouth with my hand, so as not to show him an eyeful of half eaten food. He laughed, serving himself.
    “I might just do that, sexy,” He said chuckling. Sexy? I liked that.
    After dinner and dessert, which was a heavenly chocolate pecan pie, we loaded the dishwasher (which I insisted on helping him with), and then sat down on the sofa together. We spent the next few hours getting to know each other better, learning everything from embarrassing childhood moments, to our dreams, and where we wanted our futures to head.
    “I haven’t even asked you what you’re studying,” I said, embarrassed. Was I that self-absorbed? That should’ve been one of the first things to come up in our conversations, considering we shared a few of the same classes.
    “Social work. I’ve wanted to be a youth worker since I was young. My family used to foster kids in trouble,” He explained. How was there so much about this boy I didn’t know, and could he honestly get any more perfect? “After Steffy was gone, helping other kids kind of became mom’s life work.”
    “Wow, that’s really admirable, especially after losing a child. Most people couldn’t cope with the stress of looking after troubled kids even without the added stress of that kind of tragedy.” Myself, I didn’t think I could have. Even though I was studying psychology, with my dream being to help children who have lost a sibling, I still felt my dreams nowhere neared the magnitude of his family’s achievements. Glancing at my watch, I was surprised to see it was nearly one in the morning. I began gathering my things.
    “More than anything, I think it just took the focus off Steffy for mom.” Dane spoke quietly as he walked me to the door. His sister’s death was still something