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“You haven’t eaten? Or you’re not hungry?”
I wrack my brain, trying to figure something to say other than ‘nope, just stressed and my stomach is about to explode.’ Along with my head and every other inch of my body. I fidget from one foot to the next, biting my bottom lip.
“Come to breakfast with me.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“It’s just food.” He steps closer, his body heat soaking through my thin shirt and yoga pants. “I promise I won’t try anything.” He smiles, the gleam in his eyes stopping my fidgeting. “I’ll even let you pay if it makes you feel better.”
“I don’t . . .” I pat my leggings where pockets would normally be.
He laughs, reaching out to hold my shoulder before withdrawing his hand. “I’m kidding. Come on, I heard there’s a really great new place that serves breakfast pizzas.” He walks a few steps before stopping and waiting for me to turn around and head back toward town with him.
“You’re not cooking breakfast?” I ask after a tense silent minute.
“No. Breakfast’s not really my thing. Besides, I still don’t have a dining table yet. A man can only eat so many meals sitting on his deck.”
I laugh at that, my nerves settling. “Yes, I imagine this beautiful scenery,” I wave my hand toward the beach, “would be quite distracting to the culinary experience.”
He laughs, the deep, throaty sound shooting straight to my vajayjay. “I don’t know about that, but cold cereal didn’t sound appetizing this morning.”
I pull a face, but try to hide it. I love breakfast, it’s honestly the only meal I eat, usually twice a day, but it has to be warm. Cereal has no place in my cupboards. “With the way your steak tasted last night, I can’t believe you don’t know how to make bacon and eggs.” I bite my bottom lip, hating that I brought up last night. I don’t want to think about it, let alone describe it. I don’t even know why I’m walking with him, other than I do need to eat, and I really don’t feel like cooking.
He shrugs, thankfully not bringing it up. “They’re better when someone else makes them.”
Before long, we’re seated at Seaside Pies. I order the same thing as last time, draining half of my water while Breckin orders a caramelized onion and brie pizza.
“What are your plans for today?” he asks as soon as the waiter leaves.
I bite my lip again, staring out the window as the sun rises higher.My stomach knots a little more.
Sleeping. Not spending time with him. Or them. Hiding from the world while I curse my entire existence.
Why did I agree to breakfast? This was a horrible idea. Almost as bad as last night. My stomach turns, today is not going to be a good day. I can already feel the burn. I curl my knees up to my chest in the booth. Maybe there’s still time to bail.
“It’s just a question, Asra. Small talk.”
I nod. It doesn’t ease the pain. “Um, probably sleeping.” I don't elaborate or make any attempt to explain my daily schedule.
“I wish I could say the same thing. I’ve got about fifteen hours of work to pack into eight, then I promised Brendan I’d attempt to finish all the tiling for our remodel.”
As the pain grows, I latch on to any distraction. I toy with my napkin. “What do you do?”
“I’m an architect.” He smiles, playing with his straw as I turn toward him. “I work remotely for a firm in Seattle.”
“What do you design?” Focusing on him and not thinking about myself takes my mind off the pain, so I keep the questions coming.
“Bridges.”
“Not giant skyscrapers or resorts?”
“No,” he laughs, “Brendan likes to build those. I like designing structures that I can integrate more with nature.”
When the waiter returns, I curl my feet under my lap, sitting cross legged in the booth. He places both of our pies down before getting flagged down by another couple a few tables over. As Breckin starts eating his, I pick at my bacon and egg pizza for a few minutes enjoying the peace.
It seems like there’s a couple at every single table around us. Happy, normal couples, enjoying their Friday morning, getting ready to kick off their happy, regular weekend. My heart tightens a little more. I used to wish there was a magic pill to take to make me normal. Something to ease the symptoms. A way to get rid of the bad days.
If there was a magic pill, I’d take it in a heartbeat. Have a normal life. Then I could go out on dates, spend time at the beach, and stroll through town during the day.
