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I know he’s hiding a secret. But sometimes, well, most of the time, I don’t care. The reason being, I think he’s doing it…to protect me. But protect me from what exactly? I hope to find out soon.
Switching off the faucets when my fingers resemble prunes, I reach for the fluffy white towel hanging on the rack. I dry off, feeling a million times better. The shower was exactly what I needed.
I don’t want to be a snoop, but who knows if I’ll ever have this opportunity again. So I stand in front of the double vanity and quietly open the mirrored medicine cabinet doors. There are three of them. I see what I would expect to find in any medicine cabinet—Band-Aids, mouthwash, aspirin. But when I look in the last cupboard, I see an orange bottle filled with pills sitting on the lower shelf.
This is wrong, and I am definitely crossing a line, but curiosity gets the better of me, and I turn over my shoulder to ensure Cayden isn’t loitering. When I see that he isn’t, with unsteady fingers, I turn the label and gasp.
The bright light confirms what I read is indeed correct. Cayden is on an antidepressant. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that, but I can’t help but wonder why he needs them. He may be serious most of the time, but I never thought he was depressed. I suppose we all have our secrets, and just as Cayden has respected mine, it’s my turn to do the same.
Turning the bottle to the way I found it, I gently close the door and rinse my mouth out with the minty wash, hoping to wash away my guilt. I use the matching white hand towel sitting on the vanity to dry my face. I close all the mirrored doors and peer at my reflection.
The bags under my eyes are a deep purple, the skin almost translucent from my fatigue. My hair hangs limply around my face, so I tie it back into a high bun. My skin is paler than usual, causing my freckles to appear darker and more pronounced.
My lips need a coat of balm because no matter how many times I wet them, they’re still cracked and dry.
All in all, I look like shit, and I can only hope Lacey brought over some cosmetics as well.
Wrapping the towel firmly around my body, I make my way to the door and open it. I don’t know what I expected to see, but Cayden planted face-first into the mattress was not one of them. A sudden panic rises because he looks dead, but when I see his broad back rise and fall gently, I know that he’s merely dead to the world.
My clothes are draped over the back of the chair, and my toiletry bag sits on the dresser. It pleases me to see my belongings in here. For some reason, they look like they belong. Sighing, as I really need to stop with the fairy tales, I tiptoe across the room, not wanting to wake Cayden.
Biting my lip, I look over my shoulder out of modesty to ensure Cayden is still sleeping before dropping the towel. I’m standing naked in Cayden’s bedroom. I feel above wicked and sexy.
As I step into the bikini briefs and fasten my bra, my eyes drift to Cayden’s sleeping form. I wonder what he would do if I settled in behind him and pressed my body to his. Would he push me away, claiming we were just friends? Or would he welcome the contact and want more?
Cayden stirs and turns onto his side, snapping me from my very perverse bubble. I finish dressing.
Gazing back and forth from the bed to the doorway, I wonder what I should do. I did promise to stay here, but as a yawn escapes me, it’s evident that the soft, comfy bed is calling my name. But can I do something so immoral? Can I give in to temptation and lie with Cayden?
Even though it’s just to sleep, the innocence behind that sentiment seems a lot more touching than if we had sex. I don’t know why that is.
As I’m wrestling with my decision, a small whimper escapes Cayden as he jerks and kicks his legs. Without thought, I rush to where he lies, carefully watching him and examining his pulled-in lips and the furrow lines across his brow.
Whatever he’s dreaming about doesn’t seem good, and the need to comfort him overthrows me. I place a knee on the mattress, careful not to disturb him, and then gently lower myself behind him. I’m lost in his musky scent. His heavy breathing. But most of all, I’m entranced by the familiarity of lying by his side.
When he mumbles incoherently, I shuffle closer and nervously press my chest against his back. His cries die instantly, and he inhales, finally at peace. The heat from his body is warm, almost too warm, but there is an underlying comfort in it, and my eyes instantly grow heavy.
On the cusp of sleep, I am a prisoner to this moment, but when Cayden sleepily reaches behind him and draws my arm over him to spoon him, I know that, truth be told…I am a prisoner to him. He sighs as he interweaves our fingers, with no intention of ever letting me go.
Before long, our breathing is in sync, and I have come home.
I woke the way I fell asleep…which is akin to heaven.
Cayden and I were a tangle of limbs, and it almost felt blasphemous to slip from his hold, but I really needed to pee. I feel recharged, no longer tired, which is a miracle in and of itself. I don’t ever remember feeling this clearheaded. It’s amazing what a good night’s or day’s sleep can do.
But as I bounced down the stairs with Cayden’s scent clinging to my skin, I knew it had nothing to do with the nap and everything to do with who I slept beside.
Wanting to do something nice for him, seeing as he’s saved my ass more than once, I decide to return the favor and cook him dinner as he cooked me breakfast. So that’s what I’m currently doing with Empire sitting by my feet, happy to be my helper.
Lacey left a note on the fridge. It said she was taking Ellie out to the movies. I have the sneaking suspicion she did this to give Cayden and me some time alone. I intend on showering her with chocolates and wine.
This kitchen is every culinary master’s dream come true. With ample cupboards, the blue-gray color and marbled countertops give this space a welcoming feel. No doubt, Cayden designed this with Lacey in mind. She is a culinary master, after all.
I can imagine many family meals were prepared in this kitchen. And I wonder if Cayden had a hand in cooking for his family. Or maybe even once upon a time, Hazel. I slice through a tomato a little too forcibly at the thought.
It’s just after seven, and although Cayden hasn’t come downstairs, I know by the running of the water in the shower that he’s awake. The moment I heard the pipes whine, I shoved down the images of Cayden standing under that spray, glistening wet and very, very naked.
To quell my hunger, I devour one of the caramel cupcakes I baked earlier. I was saving it for dessert, but desperate times call for desperate measures. It isn’t what I want, but it will have to do.
Thanks to the abundance of cookbooks Lacey has on hand, I followed an easy recipe for one-pot stovetop enchiladas. Everything I needed was here. Who would have thought I’d like to cook or that I was actually any good at it?
The smells wafting through the kitchen have my belly rumbling, and when I taste a spoonful of what’s cooking, I can’t deny that it’s delicious. As I’m humming away to a tune on the radio and doing a little dance, I don’t realize I’m no longer alone until I turn and almost give myself a heart attack. “Fuck. Me,” I yelp, gasping on my raspy breath.
Cayden’s brows arch into his hairline. I suddenly wish I’d opted for a different phrase.
“Are you hungry?” I nervously ask, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.
