While trying to contain my laughter, I throw some pancakes onto the plates I’d grabbed for us before changing and aggressively put butter on the five without it.
“I’m not even going to ask you if you like butter if you don’t stop laughing at me,” I say, pretending to be annoyed, but it’s killed when a snort slips out at the end of the sentence.
My hand drops the butter knife with a loud thunk, and I cover my mouth, horrified at yet another embarrassing thing I usually only do in front of the people closest to me.
Levi howls, but he gives me a sympathetic look while doing it. Eventually, I give in, letting my shoulders slump over and laughing briefly, not daring to glance Levi’s way. He’s gotten to know more of my quirks in seven minutes than most people do in a week.
Finally, once he’s relaxed, I give him the plate with five perfectly round pancakes and slide the syrup his way.
He smiles at the plate and then looks up at me. A nostalgic, almost sad look flashes through his eyes before it quickly disappears.
“Thank you, Stevie.”
I bob my head, ignoring his look, not wanting to make him feel obligated to tell me anything. He’s been gracious by not asking me about what Mom told him last night, and I’m thankful for that.
Taking my seat across from him, I douse the pancakes in syrup while Levi only pours a drizzle. I have a sweet tooth, which isn’t ideal for my condition, but this morning has been good, and I deserve to treat myself.
Before I do, Levi takes a bite of the pancakes, and I wait to see what he thinks. His eyes close, and he hits the counter with his left hand, startling me.
“I hope that means you like them?” I voice unsurely, not knowing what his reaction means.
He opens his blue eyes and swallows before saying, “I fucking love them.”
His voice is deep, almost aggressive, and kind of intimidating. It vanishes in a moment when his usual smile appears, and he takes another bite.
“If you ever meet my grandma, don’t tell her I told you this, but they’re better than hers. Where did you learn how to make them?”
An involuntary smirk forms across my face. “Your secret is safe with me.” I take another mouthful before answering. “My dad’s a cook. He took some classes at the culinary school near here. Then he got bored and quit, but he taught me everything about sweet treats, like cakes, breakfast pastries, even churros, since his dad is from Spain. Then Ma, that’s Evelyn, by the way, I call Lucy Mom?—”
He waves his fork at me. “I noticed that yesterday.”
I’m glad he was paying attention; most people don’t. “Well, Ma taught me everything when it came to actual meals, so there was a good balance.”
Now that we’re having a conversation, I realize that Levi is easy to talk to.
“That’s great. Maybe you can teach me a couple of things. I’m a terrible cook,” he says, stuffing the last of his pancakes away.
I nod absentmindedly, agreeing. I can’t help but notice how he looks at my plate as if he isn’t full. The man is muscular and probably hits the gym six times a week to look like Superman. And although I’m not willing to share my pancakes, I fortunately have some leftover batter I was saving for tomorrow morning. I check my phone for the time. There’s still an hour and a half until my next class.
Taking my final bite, I look at his plate. “Levi, would you like some more pancakes?”
He shrugs shyly before smiling and nodding like a child on Christmas morning.
Another snort escapes me, making me rush to the stove while Levi laughs again.
Making breakfast was a good call. Something tells me that Levi and I are going to get along fine, which will make it much easier to tell him what I struggle with daily.
Chapter Three
LEVI
My final student of the day finishes playing “Holiday” by Green Day after two weeks of practicing for his after-school band. I high-five him as I pack my things to leave. I see I’m already late to meet the gang when I check my phone.
Fuck, it’s already seven p.m., and it seems like the Scooby Gang, my best friends’ group chat, is blowing up. At first, I see it’s to confirm our plan to meet at Roxy’s after Kamila’s Zumba class, and I shoot them a quick message letting them know my status.
Me: I’ll be fifteen minutes late, leaving a student’s house in Kingston now.
Kamila: See you there.
