I plated the eggs, slid the bacon onto a dish, and pulled warm biscuits from the oven—lopsided, sure, but golden.My cheeks flushed with a pride I couldn’t quite hide.
Heavy footsteps, the creak of the floorboards, the shift of weight as he lingered in the doorway.I glanced up, and there he was, broad-shouldered and silent, eyes flicking from the stove to me like he wasn’t quite sure what he’d walked into.
“Morning,” I said brightly, my smile widening as I set two plates on the counter.“I figured we could use something real after last night’s gourmet cocoa.”
For a beat, he just stared, his expression unreadable.I felt my stomach flip nervously, but I pushed past it, nudging a plate toward him.Steam curled between us, carrying the scent of eggs and bacon, and I tried to pretend my heart wasn’t pounding at the thought of what he might say.
I picked up a fork, my voice lighter than I felt.“Don’t worry—I tested the bacon.It’s safe.”
The pride I’d felt plating up the eggs and bacon faltered the instant I caught the look on his face.Instead of surprise, or even the smallest flicker of gratitude, his features hardened like stone.
“Why’d you tell your mom you were here?”His voice was rough, sharp enough to sting.
I blinked at him, fork halfway to my mouth.“What?”
His eyes narrowed, dark and accusing.“Your mother.You texted her, didn’t you?Told her where you were?”
Heat crept into my cheeks.“Of course I did.She’d worry otherwise.I didn’t think?—”
“You didn’t think,” he snapped, the words cutting like a lash.“Now the whole damn town will know by sundown.”
I froze, fork clattering softly against the plate.My heart sank, a mix of confusion and hurt tightening my chest.“I… I didn’t mean?—”
He cut me off again, pacing a step back like the walls were closing in.“They’ll be talking already.Whispering.Can’t keep their noses out of anything.”His tone was bitter, laced with old anger I didn’t understand.
I pressed my lips together, struggling to find the right words.“I wasn’t trying to make trouble,” I said softly, more earnest than defensive.“I just wanted her not to worry.That’s all.”
He let out a low growl, not quite at me but at the world, at the invisible crowd he seemed convinced was watching.I wrapped my hands around my mug, wishing the warmth could shield me from the tension hanging thick in the air.
I hadn’t come here to hurt him, or to spread gossip, or to dig up whatever ghosts he was hiding.I’d only meant well.
But standing there under the weight of his suspicion, I realized how far apart our worlds really were—his, shadowed and guarded, mine, hopeful and open.And no matter how much I wanted to reach him, it wouldn’t be simple.
"Little fool," he growled."You don't realize what you've done."
Something in me snapped.I wasn’t going to sit there, shrinking under his glare, as if I’d done something wrong just by caring.
“I’m not ashamed of being here,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.I met his eyes head-on, refusing to look away.“Why should I be?You’re not the monster they think you are.”
For a second, just a flicker, something in his face shifted—uncertainty, maybe even pain.But it hardened again just as quickly.
“You don’t know what I am.”His growl rumbled low, final, like he was daring me to stop pressing.
The words stung more than I wanted to admit.But instead of retreating, heat flared in my chest, frustration rising like a tide.“Then tell me,” I fired back.“Because all I’ve seen is a man with a library full of memories, a man who let me stay safe during a storm, a man who—” My voice broke off, the memory of last night’s kiss burning bright in my mind.“You act like kindness is some kind of trick.It isn’t.”
His jaw tightened, eyes shadowed, as if my words were a threat he couldn’t let in.
I shook my head, exasperated.“You keep pushing me away like it’ll prove you right, but it doesn’t.It just proves you’re scared.”
The silence between us crackled.Sparks leapt in the space where my frustration collided with his self-loathing, each of us refusing to yield.
For me, it wasn’t about winning.It was about refusing to let him bury himself in the lies the town had written for him.
For him, I could see it—fear of exposure, fear of me seeing too much.
And yet, standing in that kitchen with the smell of bacon still in the air, I couldn’t bring myself to back down.Not when I knew he was wrong.
The words between us tangled into something hotter than anger.His voice, low and sharp, clashed with mine until neither of us seemed willing to back down.I gripped the counter hard, knuckles pale, refusing to be the one to retreat.
