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She stopped, and I could practically feel her gaze on me—feathery light and sweet.
“Are you hungry? I was going to make eggs and bacon. Would you like some?”
I did. The part of me that still gave a shit wanted to have breakfast with her. The part of me that loathed what I had become, that recoiled with humiliation for how the smallest of tasks were potential disasters waiting to happen, wanted to slink back to my room, alone. But she wasn’t some fool Lucien hired who’d be gone in a week. Maybe I could eat in front of her like the fumbling klutz I was, and it would be okay.
Maybe.
Man up, asshole, I told myself. You’re hungry? So eat. Fork, food, mouth. It’s not fucking rocket science.
“Yeah, okay.”
A smile colored her words. “Great! Just give me a minute.”
I listened to her rustle around in the kitchen, heard a pan hiss, and eggs crack. Then she set a place for me on the counter.
“Um, fork is on your left. Spoon and knife on your right—”
“I remember how silverware is set.”
“Okay,” Charlotte said, and I could practically hear her roll her eyes at me. Another few minutes or so of not uncomfortable silence, and a plate was set in front of me. “Here you go.”
I could feel the heat of the food and its scent wafting up to me. My stomach growled, and had I been alone, I would have just dug in, using my fingers and fork in equal measure, shoveling food in without a shred of manners. Or dignity.
But now that the big moment of eating in front of someone else had arrived, I froze up.
“Coffee?” Charlotte asked.
“Yes. Black.”
“And orange juice?”
“Sure.”
I heard the thud of a ceramic mug on the counter, then the clink of glass.
“Coffee is on your right. Juice on your left.”
I didn’t move.
“Noah?”
“I don’t eat in front of people.”
“I noticed. Why not?”
My lip curled automatically, a reflex whenever I was reminded of my own ridiculousness. Which was often.
“Why do you think? I’m worse than a fucking toddler. I have to use my fingers to find the damn food, I knock shit over, and it feels like I’m being stared at. Not that I would know.”
“Okay.”
I heard her setting another plate next to me on the counter. Charlotte came around and pulled out the chair next to me and sat down. Not across, but side-by-side.
“Eggs are on the left side of your plate, bacon on the right, and a crescent roll at the top. I don’t care if you have to use your fingers, and if you spill something, I’ll clean it up. No big deal.”
No big deal. The way she said it, I could almost believe her.
“Noah.” Her voice was gentle but firm, too. “It’ll get cold.”
