Who better than my new roomie to taste test them? The recipe is low sugar and”—he rummages in his pocket and pulls out his phone, eyes on the screen as he taps and scrolls before turning the screen so I can see it—“I calculated the carbs in each serving. That’s helpful, right?” I stare at him, trying to process this, trying to find something to say. I’m being too quiet. I know that, but I don’t know how to respond. This might be the most considerate thing anyone has ever done for me. It’s going to spoil me, make me want things like this, even when I’m gone and this is over. And I’m so scared
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I would kill for him.
