The sun was beginning to dip by the time we started walking home. The streets were painted in gold and shadow, the air cool and heavy with that faint smell of rain that never quite arrives. Taylor walked beside me, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, his head slightly tilted as he talked about noodles of all things.
“I’m serious,” he was saying, his tone half-defensive, half-playful. “You can’t just throw them in boiling water and expect them to taste right. You’ve got to time it…three minutes, not a second more. Any longer, and it’s mush. And the sauce? Has to be thick. Like, clinging-to-the-fork thick.”
I glanced at him, the corners of my mouth twitching. “You make noodles sound like a life philosophy.”
“It kind of is,” he said with a grin. “Simple things deserve effort too.”
I smi
