Page 39 of All The Ways to Miss You

“I thought we could just hold each other.”

I clasp his hand in mine and tug it to my chest.

The distinct aroma of coffee causes my nostrils to flare. I inhale before opening one eye. Daylight pours into Evan’s room.

I wince from exhaustion, knowing I’ve slept too little. But then a smile creeps in as I remember last night.

“Mmm.” The sound vibrates through my entire body as I roll over and stretch, my arms and legs extended, but my mood sours when I find the spot next to me empty.

I rise and stumble to the bathroom, where I slip into Evan’s bathrobe, a huge comfy thing. Padding down the hall, I’m drawn by the scent of heaven—a combination of butter and cinnamon that emanates from where Evan’s standing at the stove. He’s wearing unzipped, faded jeans, and focused on a pan sizzling with rising steam.

“Do I smell apple pie?” I lean into him, my cheek resting on his arm to peer into the pan.

“Apple pancakes. It’s a Wade tradition.” He flips two fluffy pancakes onto a plate, sprinkles them with powdered sugar, and hands it to me. “Help yourself to coffee. Mugs are on the counter. Butter and syrup are on the table.”

“Your talents in the bedroom and kitchen are scaring me.”

“We burned a lot of calories last night.” He winks.

The reminder makes me want to have my way with him right here, but I look down at my plate and my stomach grumbles. Instead, I take a seat at the table and soak in his image while sipping my coffee.

“I hate to cook,” I admit.

“I used to suck at it until I had to feed myself. In the beginning, I burned everything, even the easy stuff, but it became this thing I needed to conquer and master.”

“I kind of went the other way. When I found out I couldn’t cook, I stopped eating.” I stuff a forkful of pancake in my mouth. The food melts on my tongue. “This is amazing.”

“Thanks.” He joins me at the table with his own plate and sits across from me.

“So, how do you explain your sexing skills?” I wave my fork in the air.

Evan almost spews coffee from his nose. “My what?” He laughs.

“Did you used to suck at that too until you mastered it?”

He takes another sip, maybe stalling to decide how to answer, and his Adam’s apple bobs. He places his mug on the table. “I honestly don’t know how to answer that.”

“Why?”

“Because I have only ever been with one person.”

My fork falls to my plate with a clank. “Meaning, I’m one of two?”

He shrugs, which I take as confirmation, and continues eating like this is no big deal.

Evan’s slightly older than me and has only been with two women? This goes against every opinion I’ve formulated about him.

I fold my hands and contemplate the proper response. “How is that possible? You’ve acted like—like⁠—”

“Like what?” he snaps. “Like I said, you don’t know me.”

“But—”

He reaches across the table and settles a hand over mine. His tone softens. “And the reason is something I don’t wish to discuss. I meant what I said. No matter what happened last night, how amazing, after you leave, we’ll go back to being friends.”

I slump in my seat, defeated but also intrigued by the mystery of the only other girl Evan has ever touched. The only other woman he’s made love to, if it was love. It had to have been. Why else would he wait so long to be with someone new?

I purse my lips, remembering the photo hanging on his wall—him and the blonde. Maybe she’s the one. What I can’t explain is the parade of women I’ve seen him with since we met. Though I never recall seeing more than a hug, a kiss on the cheek, or a wave.