Page 34 of Meet Me at the Metro (Gildenhill #1)

34

brEAKFAST AND REFUSALS

T H E O

T he savory smell of bacon and smoke fills the kitchen as my hands busy themselves making breakfast. Hozier is crackling against the record player upstairs, and I hum along to the well-versed lyrics echoing through the flat as I stir the beans bubbling in the small pot atop the stove eye.

I love mornings like this when the sun starts slowly pouring in through the flat and melts away the frost on the windows. Mornings that are filled with music, home-cooked breakfast, and the sound of my pretty girl singing like a damn angel as she showers upstairs.

I hear her soft, raspy voice sing the lyrics I used to listen to alone and smile. I thought I knew what it was to appreciate music before, but when it flows out of Nora’s mouth, it feels like I’m listening to pure worship.

And I’m not even a religious man.

The sizzling of bacon conjures my attention back to the hot skillets in front of me. I flip the thick pieces of meat before they burn, cursing a loud obscenity when the grease decides to be an arse and pop off the pan.

“Fuck me!”

Nora’s singing stops abruptly, and the steady stream of water cuts off.

“Teddy!? You good? ”

“Fine!” I shout back, grumbling to myself at the tiny, red spot swelling on my lower belly. “Just getting bitch slapped with bacon grease!”

The sound of her giggles melodically carries through the apartment, and I bite back my own laugh as I switch off the stove eyes before they’re given an opportunity to assault me again.

I load up a plate with eggs, toast, beans, tomatoes, and bacon, grabbing a fork and a handful of napkins before carefully heading upstairs. Nora’s face lights up with pure delight when she spots me on the landing, her gaze trailing along the steaming food in my arms as well as over my exposed torso.

“Hungry?”

She grins. “You’re so hot.”

Water drips from her soaking wet, brown hair, streaming past her pretty collarbones and running along her freckled shoulders. I never tire of seeing her like this— so raw and natural. A sense of pride swells inside me to know I’m the only one who gets to appreciate her like this.

I set the plate on my bedroom dresser and fork up a bite of eggs, holding it out for her to taste. Mouth open wide, she happily accepts it, humming with delight as her lips close around the sample of breakfast to come.

“Good?”

“Very good,” she nods, licking her lips. “Did you put cheese in them?”

“ Mhmm .”

She glances at the rest of the food piled atop the plate, eyes snagging on one of the items before her nose scrunches in disgust.

“What in the hell are baked beans doing on that plate, Theodore?”

“It’s breakfast. What do you mean?”

“Beans are not breakfast! That’s atrocious!”

“ That claim is atrocious,” I argue, pulling her back with me toward the edge of the mattress as I plop down. “Have you ever tried beans for breakfast?”

“Absolutely not,” she counters, settling between my legs.

“Then don’t knock it before you try it. I bet you’ll love them. ”

“I bet you’re wrong. You Brits are psychopaths.”

“And you Americans are insufferable.” I run my fingers along the back of her thighs, tracing thoughtful circles against the slick skin right below the towel hanging over her body.

She’s smirking as she looks down on me, her bright eyes giving away just how much she’s enjoying each stroke of my fingertips. “So insufferable that you just can’t keep your hands off them, huh?”

“Exactly.”

“And so insufferable you wake up at the crack of dawn to make breakfast for them, hmm ?”

“ Mhmm .”

Nora smiles, and it’s so fucking gorgeous I could melt into this bed.

“Had to ensure my girl was fed before her big audition.”

“Always so thoughtful,” she coos, brushing a few strands of my ruffled, slept-in hair off my forehead.

“Only for you.”

“Are you, by chance, feeling extra thoughtful today?” She’s got a mischievous glint in her eyes that tells me she’s trying to push me to do something she already knows I’ll refuse.

“What?” I groan, hating how much her rosy—now pouty—lips are already stirring up their influence inside me.

“Don’t sound so annoyed.” She rolls her eyes and presses her knee between my legs challengingly. “You haven’t even heard my request.”

“I’m listening…”

“Well, since you’re feeling so thoughtful, I just thought that as like an early Christmas present, maybe you’d be willing to—”

“Christmas present,” I snort. “It’s the bloody middle of November.”

“I said early present!”

“ Mhmm. ”

“Never mind. You won’t even let me finish,” she pouts, stubbornly pulling away.

“Yeah, you’re a fucking theatre major, alright,” I laugh, amused with her dramatic display. I yank her back toward me. “Get your half-naked arse back here. I’m listening. What do you want to ask me, baby?”

Her defiant stance crumbles with that last word, and her fingers dance into my hair as her body lazily relaxes between my legs again.

“Will you consider auditioning for the show’s orchestra? Please, just consider it.”

I let out an exasperated sigh. “Nora.”

“Teddy, please.”

“Don’t do that. You know why I don’t want to do it.”

“You two don’t have to be best friends. You can just be cordial.”

“Cordial,” I scoff. “That’s not going to fucking happen.”

“Why not? It could happen. We could all get along. We could all hang out. You two could be okay. Be cordial. ”

“It’s not going to happen. You can’t be cordial with someone you can hardly stand being within five feet of.”

Nora sighs, and there’s so much unrest written on her face that I can tell she’s still worrying herself sick about everything that went down with Kim and Connor weeks ago. She’s too considerate of others for her own good—always caring so much for others that she begins to take their stresses and emotions on as her own.

I don’t want her carrying the weight of any of my burdens. Maybe dragging her to dinner with me was a selfish, foolish thing for me to do.

“It’s been a month, Theo. You don’t think you’d feel better if you guys at least talked? You know, maybe a little more civilly this time.”

“Absolutely not. We were nearly at each other’s throats, Nora.”

“He misses you,” she tells me softly.

I ignore how the muscle in my jaw softens.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” I laugh bitterly, smothering every ounce of hope for Connor’s and my relationship.

“He does,” she whispers, running the pads of her fingers along the hard ridges of my stomach. “He feels like shit about that night.”

Jealousy rushes through my veins in a relentless and unforgiving blaze as I’m reminded how close she and Connor are; close enough that he would share parts of himself pertaining to our past that I’ve not gained the courage to confess to her myself .

I want her to know those things, but I want her to learn about those truths—ugly as they are—by hearing them from my mouth, not anyone else’s.

Not his .

“Then kindly ask Connor to tell his mummy to quit blowing up my damn phone. The piano’s staying where it is, and I’m not joining them for dinner again.”

I feel the weight of Nora’s body clamber on top of me, and so naturally, my hands find the soft curves of her hips.

“She’s still going on about the piano?”

“Of course she is.”

A considerate moment of silence settles in the room before a taunting grin pulls at the corners of her lips, and she dares to utter, “So lunch isn’t off the table then?”

“Smart arse!” I snort.

I pinch her sides and buck her off my hips before pressing her back against the tangles of sheets. As I pin her down against the bed with my hips, I tell her, “For that, I’m forcing you to eat the beans on your plate.”

I reach my long limbs toward the bedroom dresser, pulling over one of the plates of breakfast while her wiggling body protests beneath me. I hope food is enough to distract her from the conversation at hand—one I really don’t want to be having this morning. I want today to be about her and for her to focus on her audition rather than all this bullshit going on between my estranged family and me.

“I’m not eating those beans, Teddy!”

“Oh, you are,” I chuckle as I spoon a hearty helping for her to taste. “Open that mouth of yours for me, pretty thing.”

“Tempting me with a good time?”

“Trouble. Bloody trouble,” I say with a bashful shake of my head. Only she would have the power to make me bashful. I press the silver spoon against her lips and order, “Open.”

“Screw you.”

“You can after you take a bite,” I compromise. “Just one, and I’ll let you do that as much as you’d like.”

“One bite. That’s all. ”

“I promise you, baby,” I laugh. “One bite and I’ll leave you alone.”

“That’s not what I want.”

“Then I’ll bug the hell out of you.”

It takes several moments for her to find the courage to take the bite, and when she finally does, her lackluster expression tells me everything I need to know.

“You like them,” I smile.

She licks her supple pink lips and lies, “Do not.”

I grasp her chin between my fingers, forcing her to look me in the eyes as she licks them again. This time, the sight of it sends my head spinning. I scoop up another spoonful, and when I lead it to her mouth, she takes another bite without hesitancy.

“You’re a terrible liar.” I push up from the bed and stand, sliding the plate closer toward her. “Eat, pretty thing. I don’t want it to get cold.”

She eagerly snatches a piece of tomato from the plate and takes a bite as I stalk toward the bathroom to shower.

Mouth full, she calls out, “Will you think about it? The orchestra.”

I halt in the doorway, leaning against the open pane as I turn to face her.

Nora’s unearthly beautiful, and it’s beyond her stunning appearance—it’s her whole essence. Her kindness, her perceptiveness, her playfulness, her hopefulness...

So much uncertainty clouds my mind as I consider her request. I’d love nothing more than an excuse to have a front-row seat to watch Nora perform and witness her in her element. It’s just that doing so would come with a price that I’m not so sure I’m ready to pay.

I’m suddenly becoming aware that since the moment I met this girl, she’s set out to test my limits—intentional or not.

I never liked having those limits tested.

Until her .

I huff out a frustrated breath, mumbling a quick, “I’ll think about it,” before I start the shower and step into the scalding stream of water.

And I think about it… As I get showered. As I get dressed. As Nora and I walk out the front door. As we ride the train to the school. As I walk her to her morning class. As I head across campus toward the music room. As I practice for hours and hours, playing the piano’s keys until my fingers are sore and practically aching.

The whole day, I can’t quit thinking about it.