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“Stand down, soldier.”
His golden-brown irises flash. “Not a chance.”
“Hercules. We don’t even like each other. You can relax.”
He takes a deep breath, lets it out, and goes back to his place at the kitchen island. I’m cutting the scrambled egg sandwiches into triangles when he speaks, too soft for me to hear.
“Pardon?” I’m going to put my plate onthisside of the island, and his plate on the other, but Hercules reaches for both of them. I give them up automatically, like he’s allowed to decide where I sit, and Hercules puts my plate next to his.
I’m almost to the other stool, wondering where I went wrong in my life, when he speaks.
“It wasn’t you.”
“What?” I pretend not to notice that he puts a hand behind me as I slide onto the stool, like he’s worried I might fall off.
“It wasn’t you that I didn’t like.”
“Oh?” My face goes hot. Great. He’ll notice. Living in the dark most of the time means that any blush is instantly obvious. I can’t look at him, but I can’tnotlook at him. When I finally get up the courage to steal a glance, Hercules is already looking at me, his scrambled egg sandwiches untouched.
“It was me. I didn’t like…” His eyes move to the plate, then back to mine. “I didn’t like what I’d become. What my life had become. It wasn’t you.”
“That’s—” Terrible. “Good to know? I think. Because I didn’t actually hate you. I thought you hated me and acted accordingly.”
“Glad we can put that behind us.”
He reaches for napkins, clearly glad to be done with this conversation.
“There’s something you should know, though.”
“What’s that?” Hercules hands me a napkin.
“It would be easier if youdidhate me. I wouldn’t mind if you did.”
“What would be easier? The job?”
“Everything.” This is why I shouldn’t spend so much time alone. I blunder into conversations likethiswithout meaning to. “Everything would be easier.”
Hercules shrugs. The skin around his eyes tightens when his right shoulder tries to lift with the left one. “Too late.”
* * *
The next morning,he takes one look at me and refuses to let me make the scrambled egg sandwiches.
I don’t like that.
Ireallydon’t like that.
“Is there any specific reason you’ve ordered me to sit here? Or is it for my safety?”
“The second one,” he answers, without turning around.
“I’ve made eggs in front of you twice. You know I can do it.”
“You almost burned your hand off yesterday.”
“I touched the toaster with my fingertips for less than a second. I was fine.”
“Are you fine right now?” He meets my eyes with a glance over his shoulder, and I look away. It’s a sign of weakness. I don’t usually like to give in to those, but the fact is…
