“It’s good.” I declare this without even touching the fork.
She spins around. “Really?”
I push the plate back with a grimace and watch the butter sink into the uncooked batter. “No. It’s fucking atrocious.”
She examines the butter-killing monstrosity for a beat.
I brace for anger or the wounded look that usually follows when I fail to perform the expected social niceties.
Her laugh startles me. The genuine, melodic sound bursts from her like sunlight through clouds. “You’re right. I’m a terrible cook.”
“Truly.”
The admission settles between us, oddly comfortable in its honesty.
“And you are a terrible,” she waves the spatula around, searching for the word, “conversationalist.”
I shrug and grunt, which inspires a second peal of laughter. “I’ll order breakfast.”
“Thank God.” She sags against the counter. “I was afraid the pancakes wouldn’t be good, but you’d still try to eat them out of some misguided attempt at politeness.”
I pull out my phone. “I’m not known for my politeness.”
She gathers the debris of her failed cooking project and piles dishes in the sink. “You don’t say.”
My silence is answer enough as I check a notification.
The deliveries. I’d almost forgotten. The supplies she requested, plus clothes, essentials…everything she might need to make her stay more comfortable. They all arrive today, and I’ve arranged another surprise too. The idea occurred to meduring the coffee shop visit while she chatted with her sister. I couldn’t help but notice the ease with which she moves, speaks, and breathes when she’s free.
I can’t grant her freedom, but I can give her space.
I finish my coffee and set the mug down. “They’ll be here soon.”
“The food?” She doesn’t bother to glance up as she scrapes the remnants of the burned pancake batter from the nonstick pan.
“Yes. And your supplies.”
ALEXEI
The packages arrive all at once. I direct the delivery guys to leave them outside the warehouse, then haul the boxes to the tenth floor myself.
Aurora jumps up from the table where we were eating fluffy Belgium waffles with bacon and fresh fruit. “Is this…?”
“Everything you asked for.” I gesture toward the small mountain. “Art supplies. Clothes.”
She peers from the packages to me and back again, disbelief etched across her features. “All of it?”
“All of it.” I frown. Does she think I wouldn’t honor my end of the bargain?
She drops to her knees beside the nearest box and fumbles with the tape. When it doesn’t give way, she hisses in frustration. “Do you have scissors?”
I pull a tactical knife from my pocket. “Careful, it’s sharp.”
She accepts the knife without hesitation. “I’m used to working with sharp objects.”
Soon, packing materials, tissue paper, and plastic bags fly in all directions as she digs through box after box. My pristine floor disappears beneath an ever-expanding sea of debris. I should be irritated by the chaos.
Instead, I find myself glued to emotions playing across her face.
