When I go back into his bedroom, I see Jared has left sweatpants and a T-shirt on his bed to save me from redressing in my Yoda robes.
And one part of me likes dressing in his clothes, even if they are far too big for me.
I pad into the kitchen to find Jared at the stove, spatula in hand, sliding eggs onto two plates.
The kitchen smells like heaven. Or at least the bacon section of heaven.
He glances up as I enter, and there’s this moment where his eyes track over his too-big clothes hanging off my frame before he quickly looks back at the pan.
“Breakfast is ready,” he says as he brings the plates over to the table. “You want some coffee?”
“Yes, please. Milk and one sugar, thanks.”
I hesitantly sit and pick up a fork.
Are these pity bacon and eggs? Do I actually care?
I mean, he hasn’t touched me since he saw my face, but equally, he’s not making up some excuse to get me to leave.
“So, what made you move to Auckland?” he asks as he brings me a cup of coffee and sits at the table.
“I’m training to be a veterinary nurse, and I’ve got a placement at an amazing clinic here,” I explain. “There are five clinics owned by the same person, and I’m really hoping that if I impress them, I’ll be able to get another placement here for the final part of my training next year.”
I don’t say how much I needed to escape Hamilton. Everywhere I went in Hamilton was a reminder of who I used to be, the life I had before my accident.
Jared’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’re training to be a vet nurse? Didn’t you work in fashion?”
I can’t believe he remembers that. He obviously has a great memory.
But his question causes a nasty feeling to swirl in my stomach.
“Yeah, well, my accident kind of changed that,” I say.
“Did you have any other injuries?” Jared asks quietly. “Besides…?”
“Oh yeah, I had the full works going on. Broken ribs plus nerve damage down my right side. I couldn’t use my handproperly for months. But it all healed, besides my face, which decided to be the permanent souvenir. And my boss decided my new look wasn’t compatible with a career in fashion.”
Jared looks down, his face doing something complicated. Then he looks up at me, not with pity but with something close to anger.
“That’s bullshit,” he says quietly. “Complete bullshit.”
“Yeah, it was,” I agree.
My eyes sting and I have to glance back down at my food to regain my composure.
The thing is, I was good at my job. I know I was.
I was good at charming the clients, knowing which designer would suit their body type, and convincing them to try something outside their comfort zone that ended up becoming their signature piece. And yeah, I loved the attention that came with looking good in the clothes I sold. I’d been vain enough to enjoy when clients asked for my skincare routine or which gym I went to.
“Do you miss it?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah, I do sometimes.” I run my finger around the top of my coffee mug. “I really liked the glamour of it, the thrill of unpacking new collections before anyone else saw them. But the thing I liked most about it was helping people.”
“Helping people?”
“Yeah, some of our clients were snobs, but others were actually really lovely people. There was this one woman, whose name was Deborah. She first came in because she needed an outfit for her niece’s wedding, and she’d just split from her husband, so you could tell her confidence was low. But I found her this amazing dress in emerald green that made her eyes pop and showed off her collarbones, and she went from hunched and apologetic to walking like she owned the room.”
“And after that, she used to come in regularly and buy all of her clothes from me.
