Page 9 of Twisted Violet

Shit.

I’d better make her something fresh.

Careful not to wake her, I untangle our hands, ease my arm out from under her pillow and slip out of bed.

She stirs a little but doesn’t wake up, murmuring something unintelligible before sinking her face deeper into the pillows.

I pause for a second, just to take one last look at her, then I walk out the door.

The hallway’squiet as I head for the kitchen, plate in hand. Violet’s out cold, but I keep my steps light on the off chance she’ll hear me.

I roundthe corner and as I do, I catch the sound of something sizzling and the low hum of conversation.

Shit.

Walking into the kitchen, I see Niko leaning against the fridge drinking a cup of coffee and Dallas at the stove, barefoot and shirtless, flipping pancakes like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

They both look up when they hear me approaching.

Dallas gives me a slow, knowing grin. “Morning.”

I give him a grunt and head for the trash bin to toss the scraps before heading to the sink.

Niko tips his chin toward me. “She eat of it?”

“Not really.”

Dallas flips a pancake. “How is she doing?”

“Fine, she slept most of the night.”

They don’t say anything else right away, but I can feel them watching me.

I open the fridge to grab some bacon and throw it into a hot pan.

“Did she, uh… talk to you?” Dallas asks.

I glance over at him and can see the undercurrent of hope in his eyes as he finishes plating his pancakes.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “She wasn’t really in the mood to talk.”

“But she asked you to stay?” Niko asks.

I glance over at him. He’s not mocking me; he just looks curious.

“Yeah,” I say. “Just for a bit. I think she just didn’t want to be alone.”

Dallas nods like that answers something for him.

“It’s good you were there for her.” Dallas says. “I’m gladshe trusts you.”

I grip the handle of the pan and focus on the sizzle. “Yeah. Can we be done talking about this now?”

“You’re cooking for her, aren’t you?” Dallas asks, smirking like he can’t help himself as he plates his pancakes. “You’re setting the bar kind of high, man. Next thing we know, you’ll be writing her poetry.”

I level him with a look. “Say one more word and I’ll crack this skillet over your big ass head.”

Niko huffs a low laugh and nearly spits out his coffee.