“Finally,” she says softly, a mix of relief and reproach in her voice. I drop my bag by the door and force out a shrug.
“Long night,” I mutter, not ready to get into it.
She sets her cup down, the porcelain mug clinking against the table. “I tried calling you and texting, but you didn’t answer. I was worried.”
She was? I swallow, my chest tight. It’s been a long time since anyone has worried about me. “My phone died,” I admit. “The battery went flat hours ago. How was Lil’ Peach today?”
“Good. I had to bathe her … I hope that’s okay. She helped me with dinner, and I propped some pillows under her while we ate so she could learn to feed herself.”
I click my tongue. “How did that go?”
“Messy,” she says, giving me a small smile.
“I can imagine.”
“Have you eaten? Your dinner is in the fridge. I can heat it up.”
“I can do that,” I say as she stands. “It’s late, why don’t you head to bed?”
“It’s no bother.”
“You sure?” I ask with surprise.
“Yes.”
“Would you mind if I grabbed a quick shower first?”
“Go,” she says, moving towards the fridge. “I’ll have it ready for you when you get out.”
I enter my ensuite, shut the door behind me, lean into the shower, and turn on the taps. When I strip down andstep under the spray of hot, scalding water, I welcome it. It feels like I’m trying to burn the night off my skin.
The steam fills the room as I close my eyes, hissing when the water runs over my knuckles, the ache in my shoulders, and everything I can’t shake.
When I finally step out minutes later, the world feels quieter.
I pull on a pair of sweats and run the towel over my short, damp hair before tossing it in the laundry basket. My body is still coiled tight from the adrenaline, but at least the grime and blood are gone.
I head back to the kitchen and pause when I see my dinner waiting. The plate sits on the table, steam curling off the pasta, and cutlery laid out beside it. The salt, pepper, and grated parmesan cheese are within reach.
The tea Emily was sipping when I got home is sitting there untouched. My stomach twists, but not from hunger, exactly, from the unfamiliar weight of someone thinking and taking care of me without being asked.
I hover at the edge of the table for a long moment with hands in my pockets, staring at it like it’s a trap. I’m not used to this. I’m not used to someone doing something for me just because they care.
“Sit,” Emily says, re-entering the dining room with a glass of water in hand, setting it down beside my plate. “Eat while it’s still hot.”
I do as I’m told, finally sitting, but when I pick up the fork, it feels foreign, like I’m learning how to use it all over again. And somewhere in the back of my mind, I realise it’s not just the food. It’s her, in every small detail. It shows she’s been thinking about me, and I like that more than I feel comfortable admitting.
I take a bite, groaning at the creamy perfection, and for the first time tonight, the tight knot in my chest begins to loosen.
Emily slides into the seat across from me and reaches for her mug. A small smile curves her lips as she brings the cup to her mouth. The smile fades almost instantly after she takes a sip. She gags and spits the tea back into the cup, and I can’t help but chuckle.
“Cold tea is nasty,” she mutters, shaking her head.
I place down my fork and stand. “Let me make you another.”
“No,” she says, trying to reach for me, but I step away from the table before she can get a grip. “Eat, I can?—”
“You take care of me all the time, Em, let me do something for you.”
