Brows furrowing, Sloane crossed the kitchen to stand in front of her. Tilting his head to one side, he asked, “What do you need?”
Cecilia’s mouth opened, but nothing came out for some time. “Um… I just— Uh, could you get me a bowl, please?”
Eying her closely, he observed, “You’re flushed. Are you unwell?”
Somehow, Cecilia’s cheeks went an even duskier color. It would’ve been fascinating except for the fact that one cheek was heavily bruised, with a cut below her eye that he’d sealed with a butterfly bandage.
“Oh my gods, I’m fine,” she squeaked, suddenly determined to scuttle away from him. Pressing her back against the counter, she asked, “Why are you half-naked?”
Sloane blinked. Looking down at his torso, he answered, “I was training.”
“This early?”
“It’s three in the afternoon.”
Cecilia scraped some flyaway strands out of her eyes and looked away from him. “Right, right. Sorry, I forget that I’m on a different schedule.”
He shrugged. “I don’t mind. I sleep in two hour shifts.”
“Two hour… Okay, no, I can’t even think about that until I’ve had some cereal.” Still not looking at him, she gestured vaguely toward the cabinet. “Can you? The bowl, I mean.”
“I didn’t anticipate how short you’d be when I built the kitchen,” he explained, stepping around her to grab a bowl.
Cecilia’s eyes flicked toward him with alarm. “Wait, you didn’t build this kitchenforme, did you?”
Handing her the dish, he answered, “No. I built it before I met you. But I would’ve made changes if I’d known.”
She blew out a breath. Shaking her head, she muttered, “Commitment issues have never even heard your name, have they?”
Not sure what she meant but fairly certain she wasn’t actually speaking to him, Sloane silently stepped back to let her access the refrigerator. Cecilia was quiet for a while as she grabbed the milk he’d had to go out to retrieve and then the cereal he knew was her favorite. Settling onto one of the island’s stools,she spooned a few mouthfuls of foul-looking wheat-derived crumbles into her mouth before she spoke again.
“You gonna eat something?” she asked, casting him an all too brief look.
“I’m not hungry,” he lied.
Cecilia slowly crunched a mouthful of cereal. “So… you were working out, huh?”
“Yes.”
Her spoon dipped into the bowl, stirring up cow’s milk and artificial colors. “You keep your helmet on for that, too?”
“No.”
There was a long pause wherein he supposed Cecilia seemed to expect him to elaborate. Unfortunately, Sloane wasn’t interested in explaining the many reasons he wanted to keep his helmet on so soon. Letting her choose was important, but he needed her to like him before he told her the truth. The Cecilia he’d come to know wouldn’t hesitate to run if he laid an ultimatum like that at her feet.
She wouldn’t escape him, of course, but he didn’t want to ruin the fragile peace they’d settled on. Yet.
Cecilia glanced his way again, but she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes on him for long before she had to look away. “It’s just for me, I guess,” she muttered.
Seeing she clearly wanted some sort of answer, Sloane fished for a decent excuse. “It’s… standard protocol to wear it in front of civilians.”
“Okay, but you’re not on duty,” she pointed out, waving her spoon in his direction. “You could relax a little. I mean, you’re already shirtless. And sweaty. And shirtless.”
Curious about the strange tenor in her voice, he stepped closer to the island. “You said shirtless twice.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not what I was expecting to see first thing.” She tilted her head toward the seat beside hers. “If you’re notgonna eat, you might as well sit. Unless you want to go take a shower or something.”
He probably did need a shower, but the temptation of sitting so close to her was impossible to resist.
