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As nice as it would be to have someone cook for me, I can’t fathom the idea of leaving again and going somewhere else. There’s only a little bit of post-shift adrenaline left in my body, and I can already feed the aches starting in the back of my calves.
“Please. I smell like a half-gallon of stale sour mix, and if I don’t change out of these shoes, I think my feet are going to fall off. Let’s go inside.”
Withdrawing from me again, he shuffles on his feet. “I don’t know—”
“C’mon. It’s not what you’re thinking. I just mean to make breakfast,” I interrupt, taking
his hand in mine and pulling him toward the door. I notice that he isn’t as reluctant as he makes it out to be. “And you’re so wrong. I’m a pancake girl. All the way.”
I may not be the best cook in the world. It’s hard motivating yourself to cook for one, especially when you keep hours like mine. Who wants to cook a full dinner right before heading to work? But I’ve grocery shopped since the tomato soup fiasco, and I like doing simple things. Baking the occasional cookie or throwing together an omelet with leftovers from the night before. I hated cooking for Jesse. Anything I did had to match up with whichever fitness regimen he was currently embroiled in—the right kind of macros or micros or whatever. I’m still not entirely sure what the perfect protein-to-carb ratio is. I doubt that Weston will be as picky, not with the way he devoured the grilled cheese and tomato soup I made him.
I toss my purse and my jacket onto the couch, before darting into the bathroom to change. I settle on a decent pair of leggings and a long-sleeved tee. Something that leaves me covered but comfortable and smelling like dryer sheets instead of a liquor well. When I come out, I’m amazed to see Weston washing up in the kitchen sink.
“Pancakes, right?” He starts rifling through my pantry, pulling out a package of flour and a package of sugar. “You take cinnamon in yours?”
I didn’t expect him to help. And I certainly didn’t expect him to be competent at it, let alone enthusiastic. I’ll have to make a mental note of that the next time I’m looking for that gift. A sense of calm settles over me. It’s nice being here together. I don’t think I could’ve handled being in the apartment alone after everything that’s happened tonight. Just something as simple as melting butter—and wiping the microwave out when it inevitably explodes—helps to take the edge off. It feels natural. We don’t bump into each other or find ourselves tangled up. It just works. Within fifteen minutes, we’re sitting at the counter with tall glasses of cold orange juice and two heaping piles of pancakes.
“Screw French toast,” I say, my mouth probably a little more stuffed with pancake than it should be while talking to someone who I wouldn’t mind wrecking me in bed.
Weston lifts his glass from the counter, holding it out toward me. “I’ll cheers to that.”
I laugh, lifting mine and clinking it against his. I have to admit—however impulsive I felt in the hallway, this is better than a hook-up would’ve been. I’m happy I kissed him, no matter how unpleasant the circumstances leading up to it. I’m even happier he wasn’t mad and kissed me again. I would’ve preferred a first kiss with less of a shitshow prior to the event. One where we both savored every strangled heartbeat. That delicious moment that always seems suspended in time until your lips finally meet your crush’s.
I have to remind myself that there are things we can choose, and things we can’t. After we eat and talk and clean up, I find myself at one of those crossroads again. Weston’s hand is on the doorknob. He helped with the dishes in silence, before leaving the kitchen and awkwardly hovering around the door. It’s weird—seeing him after the sun is up.
I glance down at the floor because I can already feel the blush painting my cheeks. “You should stay.”
He raises an eyebrow at the suggestion.
“Not like that,” I rush to explain. “I mean—I’d like it if youstaystayed. But I want to be respectful of your boundaries. I don’t think I’m going to be able to fall asleep in here alone. Tonight rattled me. I don’t want to admit it, but it did. Jesse just can’t seem to take no for an answer. And having you here would help.”
There. I can be honest about how I feel, for once. And it won’t kill me and make people run away. I start unfolding the sofa, grabbing the comforter and pillows from their place in my closet. I don’t turn to face him while I make the bed, not even when I hear the door handle click as he opens and shuts it behind him. I brush my teeth, floss, and wash my face without thinking too hard about what things mean right now. I said my piece. Weston simply moves at his own pace, that’s all. And I’m just going to have to figure that out.
So it comes as a complete surprise when, moments before climbing into bed myself, knuckles rap softly on my door. Weston’s standing in the hallway in a fresh set of clothes. He smells like mouthwash and bar soap.
“I didn’t want to make your pillows smell like work, you know? It felt right to go clean up.”
As it stands, he is absolutely incomprehensible to me, this complicated, beautiful man. I simply shake my head and pull back the blanket, slipping underneath it and curling on my side. He tucks in behind me, and before I drift away, I think about how safe I feel in this moment. And how foolish of me that could turn out to be.
Chapter Ten
Weston
Inhale. Exhale.
Take the energy in. Push the energy out.
I’ve done this routine more times than I can count. I usually autopilot my way through it, letting my mind drift as I relax into the familiar motions. Today is different. I can’t get into it, no matter how hard I try. My movements are erratic. More than once, I’ve stumbled or faltered. At first, I think that it’s because my timing is off. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself. I usually come out here first thing in the morning.
As I try another pose, my mind fills with images of Elowyn and they refuse to leave. But being at her place last night caused me to sleep much later in the day than I usually do.
Which is weird in itself. Being on someone else’s pull-out couch should’ve left me restless, fidgety, and with every muscle stiff. Despite waking up every time her body touched mine like a heat-seeking missile, it was some of the best sleep I’ve gotten in a long time. I didn’t wake up for good until the sun was streaming through her blinds and onto my face. The confrontation last night must’ve done a number on her—she was passed out pretty hard when I left, her face a picture of peace, her scent lingering in the air.
Last night’s almost-fight behind the dumpster, Elowyn’s sudden leap into my arms with those sweet lips pressing against mine... It all added layers of distraction I haven’t had the time to process. A feeling of desire, so potent, so raw that it trips me up. Literally. Another stumble, followed by a laugh, a laugh I’d recognize anywhere.
Swiveling around, I see her. Elowyn is watching me frommybalcony. The very sight sends a jolt down my spine. The laughter in her eyes is innocent, but the way her gaze rakes over me is anything but. No wonder I’ve felt so out of it. I’ve had an audience the entire time. I gave her a key last week in case anything ever happened while I wasn’t home, and she needed a place to go. This is definitely not how to stay uninvolved. But even though I want to fall into the mire of regret, I squash it. I’m the one who let myself break my own rules when it comes to her. I’m the one who said we should go slow.
I’m the one who thought it could be more.
