Page 69

I pad down the hallway and into the kitchen. Aedon’s back is to me. A black cutoff shirt hangs around him loosely, and he wears black jeans. He changed before coming back over. He’s standing over the stove, stirring something that smells divine.

“Sit,” he commands, without turning around.

I pull a chair out and fall into the seat. “Let yourself in, why don’t you.”

The forgotten pain pulses through my hand and throbs through my arm. There’s a mixture of shame and exhaustion coursing through me. This man, who I have tried to avoid, is now here making me dinner, and I don’t want him to. A barrier has been broken, and the careful distance between us has somehow been shattered.

He turns and grabs a cup with the same label as the place we went to after the museum and brings it to me, giving me a skeptical look. I put it up to my lips, catching the hazelnut scent. Closing my eyes, I breathe deep, the aroma already bringing me to life. When I open them, he has that beautiful boyish grin on his face.

“Not difficult when you leave your key shoved into a brick jutting from the wall.”

“Did anyone see you?” I ask.

His smile fades. “Just some guy in a chair downstairs.”

“Great,” I groan with displeasure.

“I told him I was grabbing more things for Vivian,” he says flatly.

“Thank you.” I give him an appreciative smile.

He returns to the stove. “Why do you live here?”

“Can everyone stop fucking asking me that?”

“I know you contribute to the clinic. You have the money.”

“Did Vivian tell you that?” I didn’t want anyone to know about that. It’s why my donations are fucking anonymous.

He leans against the counter next to the stove with his arms crossed. “It was business, not personal.”

“I live here because I like it. Money isn’t everything.”

“Fair enough. The environment is certainly interesting.”

“Are you cooking?” I go over to the stove to peek at the pots.

“I am. Vivian said you don’t eat much.”

“She says a lot, apparently.”

“Not as much as you think. Let me see.” He reaches out, signaling for me to bring him my hand, and examines it gently. “I saw the bathroom. I can’t say I’ve ever done anything quite so magnificent.”

“I’m sorry. It’s a mess. I’ll take care of it,” I blurt out. I feel fucking stupid. My bouts of rage are supposed to be private, not a big display of my own embarrassment and shame for the world to see.

“I already did.” He peers at me. “I don’t think you should be. Sorry, that is.”

We stare at each other until I brush my hands over the bottom of my oversized shirt. The splinters and shards of silver send pain shooting through my entire body, causing me to wince. I look like a mess just standing here in a shirt and underwear.

“I’ll fetch some tweezers. Where do you keep needles and thread?”

“What makes you think I sew?”

“I can’t imagine this is the first time this has happened.”

“Cabinet under the bathroom sink,” I sigh. It seems all I do is sigh with complacency anymore when it comes to Aedon.

It’s strange having him in my space. I’d have thought he would look out of place, but he doesn’t. I like that he came in and cleaned up the mess. That he cooked me dinner and took control of the situation so I didn’t have to, for once. I’ll never tell him that. When he returns his hands are full of supplies.