“A scramblette?”Pixie started to cut the ends of the flowers and placed them into the vase.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, closing the door to look at her again.“Back in the home, I used to try to make omelettes, but somewhere along the way, I always fucked it up.The guys used to call it a scramblette, and it stuck.”
Despite how shitty she felt, Pixie laughed.“A scramblette sounds perfect.”
They worked alongside each other.Pixie cut all the long stems and arranged the flowers in the vase and bit back a smile as Dred desecrated the kitchen.
“What’s in the bag?”she asked.
Dred turned to face her, wooden spoon in hand.Perhaps it was the way his stark head-to-toe black made a shocking contrast to the pale green kitchen counters and black-and-white checkerboard tiled floor, or maybe it was the way he dwarfed the pink and chrome table and chairs, but Pixie let out a laugh.
“What?”Dred asked, confusion marking his features.
“This,” Pixie spluttered, waving her hand between the two of them.“It’s a bit ...”
Dred smiled at her, flipped the gas off, and paced toward her.“A bit what?”
“Bizzaro.Strange.You making me breakfast, while I look like death.Here.In a condo that was paid for with the proceeds from the sale of a Jackson Pollock.It seems too strange to be real.”
Dred leaned onto the opposite side of the vintage breakfast bar Lia had picked up from an old-school diner.“Just because it’s strange, doesn’t mean it can’t be perfect.”
He reached for the brown bag and pulled out a square wooden object and a small book the size of a single-picture photo album.“Trent told me how crafty you are, so I bought you something practical too.”
Pixie took them from him.It was a wooden flower press.And the book was obviously an album for putting the pressed flowers into.Heavy cardstock and velum.The thoughtfulness of the gift moved her.
“This is beautiful, thank you.”
Dred ran his fingers over the back of her hand, the calluses on his fingertips rough against her skin.“You’re welcome.”
After breakfast was devoured, Dred set up blankets and pillows on the sofa.When Pixie made a move to curl up at the opposite end to Dred, unwilling to risk passing the cold back to him, he simply pulled her toward him until she was lying down with her head on a pillow on his lap.
For all the bright sunlight coming in through the windows, and the fresh air blowing in off Biscayne Bay through the balcony doors, the condo felt cozy.Dred stroked his fingers through her hair, the effect altogether soothing, and a little exciting.
“I’m glad I stayed an extra day,” he said after their third movie.
“You’d likely be healthier if you’d gone home.”
“Really, Pix?Actually, wait a minute.What’s your real name?”
Pixie wasn’t sure what to say.Bringing who she once was into the conversation tainted the potential of where the conversation was going.
“It’s not a trick question, Pix.I escaped too, and I don’t like to talk about it either.”
Pixie sighed.She’d always struggled to talk about what happened, even in rehab, and revealing her real name was an acknowledgment she had something to hide, something she wasn’t ready to talk to Dred about.She didn’t want to go back to that place and be that young girl, too scared to reveal what was going on at home, yet she realized that all those years later, that was exactly what she was still doing.
Dred looked at his phone.“Shit.I gotta go.My flight leaves in a couple of hours and I gotta pack.”
Pixie sat up and stretched.“Thank you for coming to see me.”
Dred gripped her chin.His gaze was fixed on her, the look in his eyes turned her insides to mush.“You still owe me a date,” he said quietly.
His mouth lowered toward hers, but Pixie put a hand to Dred’s chest.“Wait.You’ll get sick again.”
“Arguably I am still sick, but I’ll take my chances, gorgeous.”
His lips, soft and warm, crushed hers, and she felt the kiss to the very tips of her toes.His hands gripped the sides of her face and slid into her hair.Pixie felt as though she were swimming in a fierce riptide; just when she found her feet, he took her under again.
Dred stood and stepped away, his breathing as heavy as hers.“Come see me in Toronto, Pix.Please.”
