His bloodshot brown eyes still look gorgeous to me. I’m finally able to stare into them again in person.
I’ve dreamed about this day. I mean, I didn’t think he would be hungover and feeling like crap. I had pictured it a lot more romantic.
Still, I’ll take it and give thanks for it.
“Are you hungry? I was making us French toast but I can make you something else. Anything you want.” Yes, this was calculated on my part. It was his favorite breakfast and he loved when I made it.
He nods and sips some water before downing a couple of the capsules. His gaze doesn’t focus on mine like I wish he would, either. “I should be able to eat that.” He won’t look me in the eyes and that stabs at my soul.
I hurt the man I truly love. “Do you want coffee? Or can I make you a cup of hot tea?”
He points to the pantry. “There’s a box of peppermint tea in there. Maybe I should start with that. And some ginger ale, too, please. In the fridge.”
I retrieve the box of tea bags from the pantry, leaving the door open because I’ll need to get the syrup out for the French toast. Then I nuke a mug of water in the microwave for his tea. I get a can of ginger ale in the fridge and pour it over ice for him.
The whole time I’m dodging Jester, who wraps himself around my feet. I fed him earlier so I guess he’s forgiven me for my long absence.
“Oh, I need to give him a can of food,” Tom says.
“Already done. I didn’t want him to wake you up. He followed me down here when I got out of bed.”
He’s holding his glass of ginger ale in both hands and slowly nods. “Thanks.”
I could stand here all morning staring at him, but I know that’s…creepy. Instead, I return to what I was doing while he sits back in his chair to watch me cook.
I’ve missed cooking. We used to cook together all the time, me normally taking the lead. I’m a better and more adventurous cook than he is, and it used to be one of our favorite things to do together.
After I moved to Miami, I didn’t want to cook for only myself. It was too depressing and reminded me of Tom. Sometimes, I’d cycle through anger at him for not wanting to leave Maudlin Falls, and anger at myself for walking away from him.
Yeah, I’ve stacked some paper and built a healthy retirement account for myself, have a nice car that’s paid for, a closet full of expensive suits, and a condo in Miami anyone would kill to live in, but there’s a major problem with all of that—none of it means anything without Tomas in my arms, at my side.
Sharing my bed with me.
I will never walk away from him again as long as he lets me stay.
It’s obvious Tomas doesn’t feel up to talking right now, so I resume my breakfast preparations. I’d hoped to surprise him with breakfast in bed this morning.
Once I finish cooking, I plate everything and bring it over to him at the table, where I sit across from him. Belatedly, I realize we’re occupying our usual places where we always sat to eat.
Before.
So much of my life’s been trapped in stasis without him in it.
I risk reaching over and stroking the back of his hand. “I mean it. If you’ll take me back, I promise I’m here to stay.”
He still won’t look me in the eyes. “I need time, Des,” he eventually says. “I survived being hurt by you once. I can’t go through that again.”
We eat mostly in silence. I can tell he’s feeling like crud and I don’t press him for more.
I do note how he keeps glancing over at the rings, where he set them on the table.
When we finish eating, he starts to rise to help me with the dishes but I reach over to stop him. “I’ve got this. Why don’t you go relax?”
“What about filing the paperwork?” he asks. “You need to get started with that, don’t you?”
“I have time to do the dishes first. It’s the least I can do. Why don’t you go grab a shower? It might help you feel a little better. Relax. Take a nap. I’ll let you know once I’m done with my paperwork.”
Tom slowly nods. “Okay. Thanks.”
