So I didn’t.
Idon’t.
And I don’t give a fuck that I just met him. Sometimes in life, another soul calls to yours and you don’t walk away. Don’t turn your back. And maybe Kai Fletcher is one of them.
Hey, I don’t make the rules.
I do make a banging breakfast, though. And despite his skepticism about Branston pickle, my gut tells me he’s a man who’ll eat anything if he doesn’t have to think about what to cook or how to cook it. And he doesn’t have to.
I’ve got this.
The kitchen feels like a different apartment to the one I fell asleep in a few hours ago. Can’t say why. Maybe a few hours of sleep has shifted my brain chemistry, but as I move to the tune of Kai’s deep and even breaths, I feel more grounded than I did before.
I make him the quietest breakfast I can think of: soft-boiled eggs smashed on avocado toast. It’s so hipster I bleed skinny jeans and tweed elbow patches, but there’s nothing hipster about Kai. He’s so…fucking natural. Sexy tree, remember?
As if I could forget. Thanks, brain. Sincerely, a hyper-focused human.
I plate up, watching the sun hit his face from the open blinds. He wakes suddenly and I give him space, turning away as his sharp gasp pierces the silence I’ve tried so hard to preserve.He doesn’t usually wake up there.It’s the only logic that strikes me, aside from the urge to brew tea.
I am who I am.
Keeping my back to him, I sling the kettle on the burner and light the flame. Tanner packed tea in the grocery bag he handed me yesterday. Also, Dairylea cheese triangles, but I leave those where they are to eat in private when no one’s looking. It ain’t even food. Why do I like it?
Nostalgia, mate.
I feel rather than hear Kai come up behind me. Then he coughs and I take my cue to turn around. “Mornin’.”
He nods. Then he smiles and I realize that this version of Kai is more like the hunky streak of handyman I met than the traumatized shadow I spent the witching hours with. I like them both, but daylight Kai doesn’t hurt my heart. And I like his smile. Despite his tired eyes, it’s brighter and clear.
I slide him a plate. “You like eggs?”
He blinks. “I’m more of a sunny side up kinda guy, but yeah, I like eggs.”
“Eat up then, mate.”
I turn back to the kettle without waiting to see if he’s a bloke who does what he’s told, but I hear the crunch of his toast all the same, and yeah, it makes me happy. I’m shit at a thousand things, but I’m good at this part.
The kettle whistles. I make tea with the Yorkshire bags Tanner gave me. I don’t ask if Kai takes sugar or milk. I give it to him anyway, cos the night he just had? The one where he stumbled from his bed and into my universe?
He needs the builder’s brew. If I was a doctor, he’d have it on prescription.
I push a mug across the counter.
He eyes it, all honey-brown suspicion.
Confusion.
He’ll learn.
PTSD. Okay, I owe him an acronym.
My head jerks on cue. I don’t tic much, but it’s always worse in the morning when I’m not awake enough to fight it. I consider my breakfast. Is it too soon to risk flinging it at the ceiling?
Nope. He let you see him last night. Give him the same respect.
Right. I pick up my toast, but he’s not looking at me anymore, so it doesn’t matter.
Except…he’s not looking at anything. He’s lost in thought, and I want him back.
