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Ouch. Her words stab me right where it hurts. “But I think I know you by now, and you’re just being an asshole because that’s your fallback. It’s not ok, and if you really don’t want me here, I’ll leave. I just need a ride back to my car.”
“No.” I shake my head frantically. “I’m sorry.”
I take a step toward her, afraid she’ll disappear. Keeping my hands to myself, I switch tactics. I’ve never been good with words anyway. I grab the breakfast tray I have ready with a wild rose, buckwheat pancakes with banana slices and almonds, scrambled eggs, and bacon beside a fresh cup of orange juice.
“Wow. All this for me?”
I nod in reply, too afraid to speak in case something stupid comes out of my mouth.
“Thank you.” Her face softens, and that smile I’ve longed for finally spreads across her face.
My chest loosens, and I’m finally able to calm down as she sits at the table. I unload the plate and juice in front of her, returning to the coffee pot for a cup. When I make it back to her, a warm sense of pride fills me, watching her enjoy the bite she’s chewing. She looks at me with so much adoration over the meal I feel ten feet tall.
“No one has ever cooked for me before,” she says, looking down at her plate. My pride turns to anger at every man that didn’t make her feel special. A part of me feels glad. I want to be that man. But how can we cross that line? We just met.
“I’m honored to be your first.” It is easy to say because it’s her. Something about the plate draws my attention, and I focus on the leaf pattern rather than looking at her with the raw vulnerability I feel.
I tell Joey everything, always have, but somehow it’s harder standing in front of each other, not being able to hide behind the pieces of paper we usually rely on.
