Page 137 of Shadowing You

Movement had him looking up to where Mei Lin was walking down the stairs. Maybe he should’ve taken this call in his room, but…no. He needed to stop hiding things from the woman he loved—and the one he’d been dating.

Mei Lin had changed into a white sweater and dark skinny jeans that weren’t quite skinny enough. Her hair was damp, her face scrubbed clean.

She looked beautiful.

He forced his gaze away and spoke to Holly. “I don’t know what else to say.”

“Nope.” Her voice was unnaturally perky. “You’re good. I’m happy for you.” Her voice broke, but she plowed on. “I gotta run.”

Three abrupt beeps told him she’d ended the call. He closed his eyes, feeling like the total jerk he was.

Arms snaked around his waist. “Was that Holly?”

“Yeah.”

“She okay?”

“I don’t know. I guess.” He tossed his phone on the couch and returned Mei Lin’s embrace, accepting the comfort he didn’t deserve. There was nothing he could do about Holly. He hadn’t handled it well, but it was over now.

“Are you okay?”

He looked down at the woman in his arms. “It’s always been you, sweetheart. Always.”

She rested her head on his chest, and he inhaled the mild scent of vanilla coming from her wet hair.

And then she stepped away, looking almost shy, and headed for the kitchen.

He followed. “Good shower?”

“Mm.” She slid onto a stool at the island and folded her arms on the counter. “Any shower with hot water is good.”

He rounded to the opposite side of the island. “Was there no hot water in prison?”

“There were no showers.”

And there it was again, that swooping feeling in his stomach. He forced a smile. “Hungry?”

“I am. I should help, but I don’t have the energy.”

“I got it.” He measured out the pancake mix and cracked two eggs into a separate bowl. Now that he’d talked to Holly, he felt lighter. Who knew guilt was such a heavy load?

Before this trip, he’d only cooked for Mei Lin a handful of times, back when she came to visit him in Seattle. She always stayed at his friend’s apartment, but she’d come over in the mornings, and he’d attempt to fix her breakfast.

He whisked the batter. “I’ve improved my cooking skills. I’m no longer a danger to myself or others.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“It’s hard to ruin eggs.”

“You used to manage it.”

He looked up. “I thought you liked my eggs.”

“I was protecting your ego.”

“Wow. Am I that delicate?”

“No comment.”