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Why did you leave?
And because he sees so much, I know he sees the questions there, too. But he’s unwilling to answer them, so instead, he releases my hand and looks away, freeing me and breaking me all at once.
Clearing his throat, he pushes to his feet and turns around, flicking off the end table lamp.
“Ro–” I break off when he drops down to the couch, tugging me with him. I fall onto the old cushions with an oomph, my boobs bouncing under my loose t-shirt from the sudden jolt. I groan. “What are you doing?”
Roman taps my knee, murmuring, “Leave the food and just be, Evie. You have no obligations right now. No chores. Nothing but you, me and trash tv.”
It’s hard to force my body to relax. To stare at the mess in front of us, the chaotic mix of foods wafting from the table and drifting through the house on a warm evening breeze. To not jump up and restore the living room’s normal order. But as minutes turn to hours and the sound of Roman’s laughter tangles with my own, I find it easier and easier to relax.
“Fuck, this is ridiculous,” he mutters for the hundredth time as he rakes his fingers through his hair. He shoots me a scowl. “I can’t believe I’m watching this shit.”
A giggle slips from my lips, surprising me. I nestle deeper into the couch, getting comfortable. My shorts ride up and his eyes zero in on the small gap now exposed, just below my hip bone.
He swallows audibly and shoots his gaze back to the tv before muttering something about getting candy and jumping up from the couch, practically sprinting to the kitchen.
“We don’t have any,” I call, quietly snickering at his over-the-top reaction. I grab a throw pillow from the floor that we’d used to sit on and snuggle with my head on one end of the couch, my legs tucked into me. “And how can you possibly eat anything else?”
“Because no meal is complete without dessert,” he scoffs, appearing out of nowhere. His arms are full, wrapped tightly around his loot, a wide smile on his too-handsome face. “So figure out a way to make room or I’ll force you to eat it for breakfast.”
“You might not need to force me. Depends what you’ve found.”
The look he gives me is all male pride as he sets everything down on the table with more care than I’d think him capable of. My eyes widen in shock at what he’s found.
“Where the hell did you find Sour Skittles?” I choke out. “Did you seriously bring your own candy with you?”
Roman rolls his eyes and lifts my legs before dropping to the couch. My mouth gapes and my throat bobs as he rearranges my calves on his thighs. “Didn’t need to.” He shrugs and leans forward, lifting a medium-sized baking bowl I’d missed and settling it on my belly. “Why buy more when I have a stash here?”
“I don’t even want to know,” I mutter. He probably taped an emergency pack behind the toilet like a crazy person. He’s always been a fiend for sour stuff. “You know they’re probably expired,” I point out.
“Pshh.” His tattooed hand flicks, dismissing me. “Expiration dates are a conspiracy. There’s enough chemicals in the food we consume that it could probably survive an apocalypse.”
“Whatever you say,” I laugh. Tipping the bowl, my brows dip when I take in the contents.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Roman watches me. “You didn’t have any Reeses Pieces so I used your chocolate chips from your baking shelf.”
The awkward, unsure lilt to his voice—the way it slightly cracks like he’s afraid I’ll throw the bowl in his face and tell him he’s an idiot…it softens something deep inside me.
Some of the hate, the anger I’ve held onto for so many years, smoothes away, being replaced by the warm feeling I always used to get whenever he was near.
But the bowl he’s prepared for me is what really starts to tear down those walls I’ve long since put up. I don’t know why, but it feels like a silent peace offering. An apology.
I’m just not sure what for.
Popcorn and Reese's Pieces is my favorite treat. Sweet and salty. The perfect combo with a hint of gooey peanut butter. I haven’t had it…
Fuck, I don’t even remember the last time I had it.
The fact that after all this time, he still remembers my favorite snack shouldn’t make me feel this way. It’s silly, but my heart soars and my eyes once again burn. I blink away the random emotion his thoughtfulness brings on.
“Thank you, Ro,” I whisper, shoving a chunk of chocolaty-popcorn into my mouth to stifle the words that want to spill out.
He smiles softly and pops a Skittle between his lips. With our eyes locked, I watch it happen with rapt attention.
The shift.
The nearly imperceptible twitch.
