Chapter Six
Alex
Momisupandgone by the time I head downstairs in the morning. She’s meeting with her framer in Lincoln to talk about her current commission, and then she has a client meeting in Omaha in the afternoon. I love my mom, but I’m secretly happy she’s not home so I won’t have to explain why Nico showed up on our doorstep at nearly one thirty in the morning, looking worse than I’ve seen him look in a long time.
Actually, I still don’t even know why he’s here. It had to have been bad for him to come over so late.
And, given the conversation I had with my mom yesterday—what I didn’t really admit but sort of did—having Nico sleeping over in my room, even though nothing happened, might look a little sus. Nico definitely doesn’t need my meddling mom to be interrogating him right now.
What hewillneed, though, when he eventually wakes up, is coffee and food. And those things are easy. I can do coffee. And we’ve got pancake mix and eggs.
So I shuffle around the kitchen, taking my time as I cook up breakfast. Then I plate everything, drenching his pancakesandscrambled eggs in syrup, just how he likes it, and I arrange our plates and coffees on a big tray and head back upstairs.
It’s probably after nine now, but he’s still out cold when I push the door open with my foot, balancing the tray carefully to make sure nothing spills. I pause in the doorway, and my heart skips a beat.
He’s asleep in my bed.
Not that it means anything, other than the fact that he was too exhausted to argue with me last night.
But the sight of him there, tucked away under my comforter, relaxed and sleeping, with his head resting on my pillow—it does something to me.
I tear my eyes away, because I shouldn’t be staring at him, and I cough lightly to clear my throat as I step into the room. He stirs, blinking his eyes open with a quiet groan, and I smile.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” I tease as I set the tray on my desk.
He groans and tugs the pillow up over his head. “Too early.”
“That’s why I brought coffee. And pancakes and eggs.”
“Syrup?”
“A ridiculously excessive amount, just for you.”
He groans again but pushes the pillow off his face, and my stomach drops as he turns his head to look at me. His cheeks are sunken, and his skin is pale, contrasting with the dark circles under his eyes.
Just how long has he been having trouble sleeping? And why does he look like he hasn’t eaten in days?
I force a small smile and tilt my head toward the food. “You want?”
He hesitates, his eyes shifting to the tray on my desk. Then he bites his lip and pushes himself up to sit cross-legged. “Um, yeah. Thanks.”
It feels like a win, even if it’s just a small one.
I bring the whole tray over, and we both scoot back on the beduntil our backs are against the wall. He laughs lightly as he picks up his plate.
“Barely enough syrup.”
“Barely enough?” I fake-scoff, knowing he’s joking. “There’s more syrup on the plate than real food.”
“Syrupisa real food,” he argues as he cuts off a piece of one of the pancakes. He brings the plate up to his chin to keep himself from spilling, and he takes a bite, syrup dripping off the pancake. It’s funny, and I laugh.
“Whatever,” I say.
He turns his head toward me with a silly grin and sort of rolls his eyes before taking another bite. And just like that, my heart soars.
This is us. This has been us for a while now.
As soon as I think that thought, though, reality hits, and it’s sobering as hell. I look back at my own plate, but my appetite is gone, even if I haven’t yet eaten a single bite.
