“Savannah Summers, welcome back to the show. We’re glad you could make it.” The popstar smiled at the interviewer across from her, but Atlas thought it seemed a bit empty. It was better described as terrifying because of the amount of teeth showing.

“Glad I could be here. The Tomorrow Show has always been a favorite.” It made sense as they had done Savannah’s first TV interview almost a decade ago.

“You just finished your fourth tour a few weeks ago. Care to tell us about it?”

“It’s always amazing getting to perform for my fans. None of this would be possible without them; they’re the entire reason I do what I do,” Savannah replied, signing a small heart toward the camera. “I got to see familiar sights and got some amazing pictures in between shows and rehearsal.”

“I’m sure you’re glad to be back home, though, aren’t you?”

“While I love touring, it can be exhausting. I always use my time off between tours to refresh and pursue other hobbies outside of music.” Savannah shifted on screen, crossing her legs at the knee as she straightened up.

“So, what does relaxing look like to you?”

“Well, I make sure to visit my parents with a no-contact rule in place. The three of us usually go somewhere for a few days to spend time together, allowing my team to do the same with their own families.” Atlas hummed in agreement as he moved around his kitchen, turning the volume up before he started gathering ingredients. “I use the time to catch up with friends, attend events, and work on new music. I’m always looking for something to inspire a song.”

“And that includes football games?” The rookie paused, turning to glance back at his phone. Savannah tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and she glanced away from the reporter for barely a second, but he caught it.

“Like I said, I’m always looking for that next bit of inspiration. New experiences are the best way to do that, and I thought catching a game could be fun. The fans were very welcoming, and I finally understand why people go so crazy about it. The good vibes were practically infectious; you couldn’t not have a good time.” Atlas was glad that Savannah’s presence had been well received and that she seemed to have enjoyed her time at the stadium. Hopefully, she liked it enough to come back, the young man thought.

“Did you get to meet your biggest fan while visiting Nissan Stadium?” The star’s smile turned into something almost teasing.

“I did, yeah.”

“And did Atlas Graham inspire any particular tune?” The reporter fished, his expression one of false innocence.

“Shockingly, I don’t meet people and see a potential song, no matter how pretty they may be,” Savannah retorted, aiming an over-dramatic wink toward the camera. Atlas nearly dropped the bowl of potatoes in his hands as he stared down at his phone, his brain struggling to process. After a moment, he opened his messages.

Atlas: So you think I’m pretty?

Savannah: I was wondering when you’d ask

You’re watchin the interview right?

Atlas: Yeah I put it on while I’m cooking

The young man wondered if he should have asked, but then his phone began ringing in his hand, and Savannah’s name flashed across the screen. Atlas hesitated longer than he should have but then pressed answer.

“Hi?” He said, his voice coming out unsure and awkward.

“I figured you might need your hands. Is this okay?” It seemed like the next step in their friendship, so Atlas quickly assured her.

“Yeah, it’s totally fine. Helps a lot, actually.” He put her on speaker, set his phone aside, and picked up his potatoes.

“Sorry to cut your video short,” Savannah said, her tone holding its usual teasing lilt. “But, yeah, I called you pretty. I think I also called you pretty boy somewhere near the end.” Atlas almost hated the way her words made his entire body heat up. Almost.

“You think I’m pretty?” She laughed across the line, a musical sound that slightly lessened his embarrassment.

“No one’s ever told you that before?”

“Not to my face,” he replied, mashing his potatoes with a small smile.

“I don’t mind going on record as the first. You are quite pretty, Atlas Graham.” The rookie choked on his tongue, setting off another round of laughter. “You’re so easy to mess with.”

“Ha, ha, very funny. See if I teach you to cook,” Atlas grumbled, though he was smiling himself. They had fallen into banter quickly, and he enjoyed her teasing even though it turned him into a teenager.

“What are you making now?”

“Potato soup. It was the only thing my mama could cook, so I usually make it whenever I’m missin’ my family,” the rookie admitted softly, tossing a handful of onions and minced garlic into the sizzling butter in his pan. He twisted his wrist to move the ingredients around before setting it back onto the burner to cook before he added the flour.

“Are you missing them now?”

“I always miss them. I lived at home during college, so this is my first time alone. I’m still getting used to it.” The first week in his new apartment had been rough for the young man, but he had slowly gotten used to it. Still, sometimes, it was a little too quiet, so those were the nights he would explore the streets to fill the silence.

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“My parents came with me on my first tour since I was still seventeen, but I was eighteen the next year and bought a house in New York to be closer to my label. It all felt like an adventure since I was fortunate enough to have the resources I did, so I really enjoyed living up north for all those years. I always missed my mama and dad, though.”

“Do you miss it?”

She hummed. “Sometimes. It’s a different feeling in comparison, but Nashville is home, and nothing feels better than coming home after being away.”

“I can understand that. I like the idea of traveling, but I can’t see myself ever staying.”

“What’s the first place you’d want to go?” Atlas thought momentarily as he poured the heavy cream and chicken broth into the pot. He wanted to visit so many places when he had the chance.

“I’d have to say Japan. Tokyo is considered one of the biggest hubs for video games, so I would definitely want to check out that scene. Plus, they have some of the best food.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Savannah agreed quickly. “My favorite was chicken katsu. It’s pretty simple, but I loved it. You could always find a vendor on the streets.” Atlas filed that bit of information away for later use.

“I plan to go somewhere after the season but may keep it local this year. Maybe I’ll go see the largest ball of twine. Don’t worry; I’ll be sure to take plenty of pictures.”

“Much appreciated.” Atlas snickered. “So, why aren’t you playing this week?”

“It’s a bye week, so we’re off essentially. It’s probably because of a scheduling issue with travel or the stadiums. I’m just gonna enjoy the time off.” The rookie watched his pot boil and slowly dumped the potatoes before turning the flame down.

“Do you still have practice?” Savannah asked though she sounded distant for a second before coming out clearer.

“Yeah, but we’re off Saturday and Sunday.” Something rustled across the line. “Are you busy? We can always talk later.”

“I’m actually on break,” she huffed. “I’ve been working on new music all day, and I think my brain’s beginning to melt.”

“Oh, so I did inspire something?” He asked jokingly.

“You wish,” Savannah laughed, and the rustling continued. “I don’t have anything solid yet. It’s just words right now, bits of phrases and things that don’t really fit together.”

“Like a puzzle?”

“I see my music more like stories in a way. I’m always trying to say something when I put out an album, so I guess technically the songs are like chapters,” the star explained, the smile easily heard in her voice as Atlas stirred his simmering soup. “I have a rough idea for my next album, but I’m still trying to iron out the lyrics before I start working on the music.”

“Do I get any hints as your biggest fan?” Atlas inquired hopefully, though he wasn’t pushing too hard. Part of the fun of waiting for a new release was wondering what you might get.

“It’s cute to try, but no. I don’t really have anything to hint at anyway.” It sounded like she wasn’t telling the whole truth, but the rookie let it go. “How’s the soup?”

“I got about an hour until I can eat it, so now we wait.” Atlas grabbed a towel from under the sink.

“And what do we do while we wait?”

“Clean,” he replied, already wiping down the counters. He set the dishes into the sink as he went so he would have less to do once the soup was finished. “So, you really can’t cook?”

“Nope,” Savannah replied, popping the ‘p’. “My mom tried to teach me growing up, but it never interested me. Then, after I started touring, I just didn’t have the time. How did you learn, Mr. Graham?” Atlas chuckled as he leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms loosely.

“Well, my mama could only make the soup, but my abuelita could cook anything as long as she had a recipe. She always had me in the kitchen with her whenever we’d spend the night,” he recalled, smiling. “Since my parents worked long hours to pay for football, I was in charge of feeding myself after practice, so I started to cook on my own. Part of why I committed to NU was because of the culinary program.”

“What were your classes like? I only took a few online classes after I graduated.” The young man idly stirred the pot.

“I had to take a lot of general requirements like English, a math course, and two or three humanities courses. On top of that, I had culinary-based classes like labs and a catering course. The classes were harder than expected, but I learned a lot even if I don’t get to use the skills all that much,” Atlas said, shrugging even though she couldn’t see him.

“Do you want to do anything with your degree?”

“I thought about being a personal chef after I retire,” the rookie admitted softly, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not particularly glamorous, but I’d have a free schedule and be able to do what I enjoy.”

“And who wouldn’t want a pro athlete in their kitchen?”

Atlas beamed. “Exactly, it’s my gimmick. They’d come because of my reputation,”

“And stay for the food,” Savannah finished. “You’re hyping your skills up quite a lot, Mr. Graham.”

“I guess I’ll just have to cook for you soon.” Atlas waited as she fell silent, hoping he hadn’t said the wrong thing. There was a fine line between being friendly and a creep.

“What if I’m a super picky eater?”

“Then I’ll make the best chicken tenders and mac-and-cheese you’ve ever had,” the rookie vowed solemnly, sighing in relief when Savannah’s laughter filled his kitchen.

“Looks like I’ll have to make time in my busy schedule then,” she lamented teasingly. “I’ll make a spot for you in my kitchen if you’re half as good as you sound.” Atlas pictured himself in a lavish kitchen while she watched him work, a cute apron tied around his waist and his shirt suspiciously absent. Somehow, he doubted that’s what Savannah had in mind.

“I’ll teach you everything you need to know, don’t worry. Might take a while, but we’ll get there.” Honestly, Atlas didn’t care how long it took. He would take any excuse to spend time with Savannah.

“How’s the soup? I can’t trust your teaching if you burn the soup.” The rookie removed the lid and gave it a quick stir.

“Looks to be done,” he commented. “Gonna throw some garnish on top, and then it’ll be ready to eat.”

“I have to get some more work done, so I need to go, but I enjoyed the break.”

“I enjoyed the company,” Atlas replied simply.

“Send me a pic of the finished product so I can live vicariously through you while I order pizza,” Savannah demanded, and the young man chuckled. “Goodnight, Atlas.”

“Night, Savannah.” The call disconnected, and his kitchen fell silent once again. He snapped a quick photo, trying to remember the tips from his photography class, and sent it off with a satisfied smile. Atlas debated asking her to dinner after the game but wasn’t sure how she would feel being seen with him in public. The media would run wild with theories, everything but the truth, and he didn’t want to make things more difficult for the pop star. Maybe we can start with team dinner…