A saving grace is that I don’t have a diner shift today, but I do have community service at the animal shelter in the next town over. Dogs will take the pain away like nothing else can, so I’m actually looking forward to it. I don’t have to be there for a couple of hours though, and I know Gage willbe around until he has to go open the bar, so we’ll be spending a cute husband and wife cozy morning together.
I’m totally fine with that. Completely and utterly fine after he admitted he feels something going on between us, too. My first night in his house had been so nice that I barely knew what to do with myself. I had no idea what to think or feel because being made to feel this at home is such a jarring, new sensation.
The sounds of someone working in the kitchen, birds chattering, and the smell of something sweet, have me sliding out of bed and padding into the hall bathroom to make myself somewhat presentable. Once my hair is smoothed out, the eye boogers are gone, and my breath isn’t rancid, I head downstairs in my worn concert tee and sleep shorts. In my mind I keep telling myself to be cool, that Gage and I are still the same friends we’ve been since the day I first met him. Anything more than that is going to require getting a lot of things figured out, my own shit first and foremost.
Gage turns when he hears me come into the kitchen, giving me a sleepy smile. I’m unprepared for sleep rumpled Gage. A white tee clings to his torso, well-muscled legs in a pair of black athletic shorts leaning against the counter. His thick, dark hair is mussed with Daisy making a nest in it, his eyes a little bleary in that cute way. Eyes that are currently behind a set of round black framed glasses as he reads some mail while keeping an eye on the pancakes he’s cooking on the griddle.
“Good morning,” he says with a yawn. “How’d you sleep?”
“You wear glasses?” is my brilliant response.
“Only for reading sometimes if it’s not digital and I can’t make the print bigger. I’ve always been far sighted,” heexplains with a small laugh. Fuck me, as if I’m not confused about him enough, he has to go and put on glasses? Between them, his arm ink, and that silver chain he likes to wear, it’s like he knows exactly what my kryptonite is. I just nod in response.
“Hungry? I’ve got pancakes going, they usually make Mondays suck a lot less.”
“You don’t need to make me breakfast,” I quickly tell him. He huffs an annoyed breath.
“I know you don’t want me to dote on you, and I respect that. Let me make it clear that I’m also not going to be an asshole, though. If I’m making pancakes, I’m making enough for both of us. It’s basic human decency, but you don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to. I can always freeze them,” he says gently, his annoyance now gone.
“I know we didn’t get married for the reasons a lot of people do, but I’m still going to treat my wife well,” he goes on with a twinkle in his eye. Daisy lets out a big chirp of agreement from her hair nest.
The way he says, “my wife,” in that sleepy, raspy voice almost makes my toes curl. Goddamn him for being so good and helpful. Why can’t he be easy to hate like most other men?
“I’ll have some because Daisy bullied me into it just now,” I tease.
He lets out a hum.
“It’s always best to listen to her, she can get mean,” he agrees, moving to slide three finished pancakes onto a plate and handing it to me. “Syrup is on the table, and there is plenty of coffee in the pot with creamer, caramel syrup, and sugar next to it,” he adds.
“Breakfast,” Hermes says in that funny, croaky voice he has from his perch in the breakfast room. I put my platedown at the table and give him some head scratches before quickly making myself a coffee. He picks up a tiny blue metal wrench near him with his beak.
“What is that, Hermes?” Gage asks from the kitchen.
“Wrench.”
“Such a good job, buddy. Want some blueberries?”
“Want a snack,” he replies excitedly.
I shake my head in amazement as Gage comes over with a handful of blueberries.
“Here, want to give them to him? Then you’ll really be his bff.”
“Sure,” I say, holding out my hand. He dumps the blueberries into it and goes back to the griddle.
“Here’s your snack, Hermes! Want your blueberries?” I ask him as I approach his perch. He’s so gentle as he eats them out of my hand, and that earns him another head scratch. Gage reaches up to his hair to feed a couple of blueberries to Daisy so she doesn’t feel left out. The man is completely unbothered when a little blueberry juice gets into his hair.
“What?” he asks when he sees me staring.
“Daisy made a blueberry mess in your hair,” I say, itching to go over and touch it to help him get it out. I stay where I am, though.
He shrugs.
“Birds are messy. I’ve resigned myself to a life of constantly cleaning and multiple showers a day. I wouldn’t want it to be any different. Messes don’t scare me,” he says with a significant glance in my direction.
We hold each other’s gazes as I slowly nod.
“I wouldn’t want it any different either,” I agree quietly.
