“Why are you really doing this?” I ask.
He glances at me, his grin still there, but softer now. Less teasing.
“Because,” he says, flipping the sandwich onto a plate and setting it in front of me. “You might hate me for it later, but I still want to take care of you.”
He cracks an egg into the pan, glancing up at me when I don’t move to touch the plate he just offered. “How do you like your eggs?”
I wet my lips, a smile pulling at my mouth. “Grilled cheese and eggs for breakfast?”
He chuckles. “It’s good. Protein to get you through the day, and a little carbs to give you some energy that you didn’t get from sleep. So eat up, peaches, or you’ll hurt my feelings.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want that,” I snicker, picking up the sandwich. “Over medium for the egg please.” Then I take a bite of the perfectly made sandwich, savoring the taste of the expensive cheese. “Mmm, this is good.”
“I told you it was.” He beams as if I just handed him the biggest win of his life, as if making me breakfast is somehow his greatest achievement.
He flips the egg, humming under his breath again, the soft sizzling filling the air between us.
I don’t know why this feels so nice. Maybe because everything lately has been chaos. Maybe because no one’s ever just made me breakfast—without expecting something in return. Or maybe because it’s Carson, and I can’t figure out what the hell to do with him.
“So,” I say after swallowing another bite. “Tell me the truth.”
“The truth?” he repeats, eyebrow raised.
“Yeah.” I savor another bite, letting the silence stretch just enough to make him squirm. “Why would you help me?”
“I already told you…” He cracks another egg, adjusting the flame casually, avoiding looking at me the whole time. “It keeps you safe. And it gives me control.”
“You like control?”
He shrugs, but the movement’s too casual, too easy. There’s something in the way his shoulders hitch that feels forced—maybe it’s not the control he wants. Maybe it’s something else entirely.
“I like you,” he says.
And that has my stomach dipping. Because that’s not a lie. I can see it in the way he says it, hear it in his voice, and worst of all—feel it in the way he looks at me.
And that scares me more than Finn. More than Landon being in town. More than all of it combined. Because I’m pretty sure I actually like him too.
I clear my throat, my tongue darting out to wet my lips. It’s either avoid this and keep pretending it’s nothing, or face it. I’m done running.
I take another bite of my sandwich, chewing slowly, watching Carson as he makes his eggs. His movements are so precise, making me think he’s done it a hundred times before. And maybe that’s the part that makes my stomach feel weird—the easy familiarity of it.
He isn’t supposed to make me feel like he’s home. None of them are.
But he does.
I swallow, pushing the thought aside. “So… if we do this—if you help me see Finn—what are your rules?”
Carson cracks another egg into the pan, but doesn’t answer right away. The silence makes my pulse tick up.
When he finally does speak, his voice is lighter than I expected. “Rules? Peaches, you wound me.”
I scoff, setting my sandwich down. “Oh, please. You three have more rules than a fucking fight club.”
“Fight club has, like, two rules,” he says, holding up two fingers.
“You know what I mean.”
He smirks, flipping the first egg effortlessly before grabbing another plate and sliding it on top. Then he turns toward me, leaning back against the counter, crossing his arms, watching me. And I get the feeling I just walked right into something.
