Page 86

“To make sure I’m not fucking up too badly.” I saunter into the kitchen, snagging a piece of semi-burnt pancake from the plate. “Let’s eat.”
She watches me, her eyes searching, before turning back to the stove. “I think I finally got one right.” She places a golden-brown pancake onto a plate, the corners of her mouth lifting. “Only took, what, six tries?”
“Hey, you know what they say.” I grab the plate, drowning the pancake in syrup. “Sixth time’s the charm.”
“Pretty sure that’s not how the saying goes.”
“Details.” I cut into the pancake, steam rising from the fluffy center. “All that matters is you didn’t burn the place down.”
“Yet.” She points the spatula at me. “There’s still time.”
This.
This is what I need.
Not Elijah’s lectures or Dad’s expectations. Just Naomi, here, in my space. Making me laugh. Making me forget, even for a moment, all the shit waiting for me outside these walls.
I observe her pour more batter, tongue poking out in concentration. She’s a fucking disaster in the kitchen. But she’s trying. For me. And that… that means something.
I don’t know what this is, this thing between us. What it can be with her being in the denial stage. But as I watch her flip another lopsided pancake, flour in her hair, and my shirt slipping off her shoulder, I know one thing for sure.
I’m not ready for it to end.
The question is, where does she stand?
TWENTY
NAOMI
It’s just… an arrangement. A casual thing between two casual people.
Except nothing about what we’ve done feels casual. Is not having sex, kind of having sex, something casual?
The way Brandon touched me, how he knows exactly what I need without asking. The tenderness as he cleaned me up. Taking the control away.
We’re not having sex tonight. Or any night until you believe I’m not going anywhere.
It’s been a week, and we didn’t have sex, and he didn’t leave.
I push through the heavy glass doors of Elliot’s restaurant, my heels clicking against the polished floor. The hostess recognizes me, gesturing toward our usual table.
My stomach twists. Not from hunger, I actually managed breakfast today. No, it’s something else. The way he’s been lately… hovering, checking in, sending random texts about his day. Like this morning:Saw a black cat crossing the street. Reminded me of you. Probably plotting world domination too.
He glances up as I approach, those dimples appearing. “Cupcake.”
The nickname used to make me roll my eyes. Now it settles warm in my chest, familiar. Dangerous.
Brandon stands, catching me off guard as he brushes his lips against my cheek. His stubble grazes my skin, sending another hot wave through my body. “Almost thought you wouldn’t come.”
I open my mouth, ready with a retort, but something blocks me. Maybe it’s the way his hand lingers at my waist or how that boyish grin of his makes the edges of my world blur.
Okay. I’ve got two choices here: face whatever this is head-on or bury it so deep that even a team of therapists couldn’t unearth it. Given my track record? Smart money’s on option two.
“Sorry.” I slide into my seat, avoiding his gaze. “Work ran late.”
“Since when do you apologize?”
“Since when do you greet me like that?”