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I’m not a morning person, and after drinking last night, I should be fast asleep, but I think the newness of where I’m sleeping and, really, just everything, has me wired.
I don’t want to wake anyone up, but I need some water at least.
While the idea makes me super uncomfortable, I decide to go down to the kitchen to get some water.
The house is dark and quiet as I leave my room and descend the stairs. I assume everyone is asleep, so when I step into the kitchen and find someone standing there, I nearly pee my pants.
As I start to spin around to run, I hear Hunter say, “Shit, you scared me.”
I breathe in relief as I turn around and face him. “I scaredyou? I nearly just pissed my pants.”
He chuckles as he scoops up a scoopful of coffee grounds. He’s making coffee, and it’s so early.
“Are you like awake awake?” I ask, tugging at the hem of his shirt that I’m wearing.
He’s shirtless, and the scars he showed me a brief glimpse of earlier are visible, but knowing how he feels about them, I try not to stare. Still, he immediately notices where my attention is and turns around, dumping the grounds into the coffee machine.
“Sorry. I don’t usually sleep with a shirt on, and we usually don’t have guests over, so it’s not a big deal … Not that you’re a guest. You’re totally one of us …” He shakes his head. “I seriously just turned into a babbling idiot, didn’t I? You’ll have to forgive me.” He flashes me a smile from over his shoulder. “My brain doesn’t work until it gets its morning jolt of caffeine.”
“You’re fine. And I get it—being nervous about someone seeing your scars.” I tug on the hem of the shirt again. “But you know that already since you’ve seen mine.”
A drop of silence goes by, and then Hunter cracks a small smile. “We’re seriously like two peas in a pod.”
“Or like two weirdos in a kitchen way too early in the morning,” I quip with a smile.
He smiles back as he turns on the coffee machine. “I actually usually wake up this early.”
I pull a face. “Well, that’s just gross.”
His eyes crinkle around the corners as he smiles. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess my bestie isn’t a morning person.”
“Nope. Not at all. And it doesn’t help that I have a mild hangover.”
“You need some painkillers?”
“Maybe.”
He wets his lips with his tongue, considering something. “Let me cook you some breakfast first, and then you can take them. It’s not good to take them on an empty stomach.”
I promptly shake my head. “You don’t need to cook me breakfast. I can just eat like a granola bar or something.”
“No way.” He dismisses me with a flick of his wrist. “You need to eat something healthy.”
“Is that your way of saying I’m unhealthy?”
He grabs a carton of eggs, a gallon of milk, and the butter from the fridge. “No, that’s my way of saying that you need to eat better than I’m sure your aunt and uncle were feeding you.” He bumps the fridge shut and sets the ingredient onto the counter. Then he twists the knob on the oven. “You probably haven’t had a homecooked breakfast in a very long time.” He glances at me, as if waiting for me to answer.
Nodding my head is painful—the pain stemming from the truth. “It’s been a minute.”
He hesitates. “Can I ask how long?”
I rub my hand across my chest, the truth of the answer causing even more pain to swell through me. “I honestly can’t remember ever having one.” Not even when my parents were alive.
His expression turns sympathetic. “Aw, baby, that’s so sad.” He steps forward and lightly brushes his fingers along my cheek. “That’s going to change today, though, okay?”
I hesitate. “You’ve already done a lot for me. It feels weird that I’m just standing here and you’re making me breakfast.”
“I’ll make it for myself, too,” he insists. “But if it makes you feel better, how about you make the toast?”
