I couldn’t help wondering if I’d found mine.
Chapter ten
Clayton
I changed into clean boxers, a T-shirt, and the jeans I’d brought to change into after the party. I folded my dirty clothes and set them in the duffle, then stood, uncertain.
He’d said to come eat.
The kitchen was bright and smelled like toast and coffee. I hovered in the doorway. Felix stood at the stove, bare feet on the tile, and his hair was wild and soft, sticking up at the back where he’d probably slept on it. The kitchen light caught the copper streaks in his beard, and I almost couldn’t look at him. He was gorgeous, but it was more than that. There wasn’t a trace of impatience or awkwardness. He just moved with this slow, deliberate calm, like he owned the whole damn world and was in no rush to prove it.
He saw me, and the smallest smile flickered at the edges of his mouth. I felt it hit me, low in my stomach, tight as a fist.
“Sit,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I did. I tucked my hands under the edge of the counter and tried not to look like I was waiting for a test I hadn’t studied for.
“Coffee?” He gestured at the pot. My mouth was so dry I just nodded, but my fingers itched to fix his for him.
He poured it for me, not just a splash but a full cup, and set it right in front of me. Then, without asking, he tipped in a spoon of sugar and a slug of cream, stirred it until it was just the right shade, and handed it over.
I took it. Warm. Heavy in my hand.
“Thank you, sir.” I didn’t even try to hide the sir. It felt right, here.
He nodded, approving. “You need food, not just coffee. I made eggs. And toast. There’s juice if you want it.”
It was so matter of fact, the way he said it. Like taking care of me wasn’t this huge deal, like it was…normal. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made me breakfast.
He set the plate down. It looked like something out of a commercial. I stared at it. My hands actually shook.
Felix didn’t make a big thing about it. He just sat on the stool next to mine, set his elbow on the counter, and waited.
I ate.
The first bite burned my mouth, but I didn’t care. The toast was thick and buttered perfectly. The eggs were soft, not rubbery, and he’d sprinkled them with some kind of herby salt that made them taste expensive. I didn’t want to bolt it down, but the need to eat faster, just in case, was still there.
He watched me. Not in a creepy way, just like he wanted to make sure I was okay. It didn’t make me nervous. It made something in my chest unclench.
“Good?” His voice was low, amused.
I nodded, mouth full, then swallowed. “So good. Thank you, sir.”
“Drink your juice,” he said, and I did, even though I wasn’t thirsty. The sweetness clung to my tongue. I could feel my body waking up for the first time in months.
He waited until I was almost done before he started talking. “I spoke to my sister this morning, and she knows someone that works for the Anderson group out of New York.”
I knew them. "They own Marstons."
He nodded. "They're looking for a Christmas event coordinator, but it's based in New York."
I couldn't hide the wince and looked down at the table.
"What is it?" Of course, Sir noticed.
"Geoffrey Marston is the billionaire backer behind one of the churches that sponsor gay conversion therapy."
His eyes widened. "Why didn't I know that?"
