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He laid the spatula down and turned, wrapped his arms gently around her and breathed in the scent of her. “For?”
She gestured to the stove, her eyes suspiciously bright. “For breakfast. For...all of it.”
She started to pull away, but he held tighter.
“What is it?”
Her throat worked as she swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on the plates of food.
“The last time someone made me breakfast was Constanza.” Her small smile didn’t reach her eyes. “That was the first thing she did that got through to me. It’s not like I went hungry in my other foster homes,” she added quickly, “but breakfast was usually Pop-Tarts, pre-made waffles, that kind of thing. But Constanza...” Her smile grew, her eyes crinkling at the corners as happiness chased away some of the sorrow. “My first morning I came down and she had made me Haitian patties andmais moulin ak zepina—pastries stuffed with spicy beef and cornmeal grits with spinach. It was one of the most delicious meals I’d ever eaten.” She looked up at him then, and the mix of sadness with the beauty of nostalgia made his heart hammer in his chest.
“She looked at me and smoothed my hair back from my face and said, ‘I made you breakfast, Evie.’ And it was so simple, but she’d done it for me, just for me, and she remembered my name.”
She suddenly shook her head and tried once more to pull away. His arms tightened around her.
“Sorry.” She brushed the heel of her hand against her cheek to wipe away a wayward tear. “I guess sex and breakfast make me emotional.”
“Don’t do that.”
Her head snapped up. “Do what?”
“Don’t make excuses for how you feel.” He captured her chin in his grip so she couldn’t look away. “I can hear in your voice how much she means to you. Don’t run from what you had with her—or what you still have even though it looks different than it used to.”
“Thank you.” She glanced down at her feet.
“What?”
“Just...” She sucked in a breath and then looked back up. “Doesn’t that apply to you, too?”
He froze.
“Sorry—”
“You still have Constanza,” he broke in. “You have someone. I don’t.”
She watched him for another long moment. Then, as if sensing she’d pushed enough, she simply said “Okay” and started to pull away.
Conscious of the tension that had descended between them, he tugged her back and dropped a light kiss on her forehead. “Let’s eat on the balcony.”
Minutes later, between the food and the warmth of the morning sun, the mood had shifted back to relaxed.
“I’ll probably head home after breakfast.”
She said it nonchalantly, not meeting his gaze as she speared a piece of egg with her fork.
He nodded even as his chest tightened. “I can drive you.”
“No, thanks.” She smiled slightly. “I like the subway.”
“Youlikethe subway?”
“Mmm-hmm. I’m sure part of it is finding my love of music in the tunnels, that nostalgia that pulls me back. But part of it...”
Her voice trailed off as she frowned. Before he could question himself, he rose and sat in one of the chairs across from her.
“Part of it?” he prompted.
The grin she shot him warmed his body. “You make it hard to keep myself all locked up when you’re such a darn good listener.”
