As I ended the call, I caught sight of my reflection again. This time, my cheeks were flushed, my eyes bright with a mixture of hope and terror.
You can do this. It’s just Drew. Your Drew.
The thought sent a shiver down my spine. I pushed away from the sink, squaring my shoulders. It was now or never.
With trembling fingers, I came out of the bedroom. The apartment was quiet, but I could hear the faint sounds of Drew moving around in the kitchen. My heart pounded in my ears as I made my way down the hallway, each step bringing me closer to a moment that could change everything.
I paused at the kitchen entrance, watching Drew as he stood at the counter, his back to me. He was humming softly, completely unaware of my presence or the emotional turmoil raging inside me.
“Drew?” I called out, my voice barely above a whisper.
He turned, his blue eyes meeting mine, and just like that, all my carefully prepared words evaporated. But as I looked at him—really looked at him—I realized that maybe words weren’t what we needed right now.
11
DREW
Istared at West, my mouth suddenly dry. His hazel eyes met mine, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. God, what was wrong with me? We’d shared a bed countless times before, but last night had felt…different.
“So, uh, breakfast for dinner?” I blurted, breaking the silence. “I was thinking scrambled eggs and bacon. That okay with you?”
West’s brow furrowed slightly, and I worried I’d said something wrong. But then he smiled, that gentle curve of his lips that always made my heart skip.
“Sounds perfect, Drew. Thanks.”
I nodded, probably a bit too enthusiastically. “Great! Great. How’s your leg?” I asked, my eyes dropping to his injured limb.
West shifted, his expression softening. “It’s fine, really.”
I knew that tone. It was his ‘I’m in pain, but I don’t want to burden you’ voice. I’d heard it too many times over the years.
“Right,” I said, not believing him for a second. “Well, let’s get some food in you anyway. Can’t have you wasting away on my watch.”
We fell into our usual rhythm. I cracked eggs while West handled the bacon, his movements stiff but determined. The sizzle of the cooking bacon filled the air, along with the rich aroma of coffee brewing.
“Remember that time in foster care when we tried to make breakfast for everyone?” West asked, a hint of laughter in his voice.
I groaned, recalling the disaster. “How could I forget? We nearly burned down the kitchen.”
“Mrs. Hawkins was livid,” West chuckled, passing me the salt. Our fingers brushed, and I felt that same jolt of electricity I’d been trying to ignore for years.
“Yeah, well, we’ve come a long way since then,” I said, focusing on the eggs to hide the flush creeping up my neck.
We settled at the table, the familiar routine of passing condiments and refilling mugs a comforting dance. West’s leg bumped mine under the table, and I pretended not to notice how my heart raced at the contact.
“This is good,” West said between bites. “You’ve definitely improved since our foster care days.”
I grinned, warmth spreading through my chest at his praise. “Well, I had a good teacher,” I replied, thinking of all the nights West had patiently shown me how to cook when we first got our own place.
As we finished the last bites of our dinner, I stretched and glanced toward the living room.
“Hey, why don’t we move to the couch?” I suggested. “Since we slept all day, I doubt we’ll be tired soon, and it’ll be more comfortable for your leg.”
West’s eyes met mine, a flicker of something I couldn’t quite name passing through them. “Yeah, that sounds good,” he replied, his voice slightly lower than usual. “My leg could use a break.”
I stood, offering him a hand. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get you settled.”
As we made our way to the couch, I noticed West leaned into me slightly, his warmth seeping through my shirt. It felt right, having him close like this. Natural.
