He leans close, running his nose alongside mine. "You go downstairs. I'm going to throw the sheets in the washing machine and then I'll be down."
Not only is he going to service me, but he's also going to clean up? That’s… unexpected. Not from Titus specifically, just from a man in general.
I hesitate, because it feels weird to have someone handling so much, and I'm not sure how to deal with that. "I can help?—”
"You can also go downstairs." Titus straightens away from me, turning my body for the door. "It'll take me two minutes."
I guess that's true. That's how long it took me to strip his bed last night. It still feels weird to be the one wandering away when there's work to be done.
I'm halfway down the stairs before a few thoughts connect, settling bitterly in my stomach. Maybe my unwavering positivity hasn't been the only way I've attempted to maintain relationships. I've always felt like I had to work for them. Put in the effort. The time. The energy. That I had to be deserving or it would all go away. Obviously that was wrong. Because even when I was happy and positive and busting my ass, nearly every relationship—friendly or romantic—has evaporated. And I don't know what that means.
Maybe that I'm trying too hard? That I'm generally unlikable? That I have terrible taste in the people I choose to interact with? I can confirm that last one, because I do seem to have a terrible picker.
That's the whole reason I thought it was safe to come to the middle of nowhere Wyoming. There would be nobody to pick from. Nothing to tempt me into a false sense of optimism. No one to spawn the dreamy plans I can't seem to stop myself from making.
I turn away from the kettle I’m filling in the sink as I hear Titus coming down the stairs. He's fully dressed now with a shirt covering the hard ridges and lines of his chest and arms. He’s still fucking gorgeous. Definitely the kind of man dreamsare made of.
Maybe I should have done a little more research on the Bradshaw brothers before I took this job. At least then I would've seen this coming. Had the opportunity to gird my loins and build up some defenses.
But when Titus comes to my side, gently working the kettle from my hand, I have to face the truth. There might not be enough defenses in this world to keep me from accidentally falling for this man.
He tips his head at the bar where he normally works. "Go sit."
"But…” I don't know what to do right now. I know what I want to do. I want to float on a cloud and think that everything has changed between us. That the future looks bright and shiny and wonderful. But historically, I’ve been a little bit of an over-expecter.
That leaves me falling back on the only other thing I know how to do—earn my place.
Except Titus doesn't seem interested in allowing that. He shakes his head, voice soft when he says, "Let me take care of you."
How long have I waited for someone to say those words to me?
Forever.
Just like no one's ever put me first, no one's ever taken care of me. Not the way I really needed. My mother kept a roof over my head and food in my stomach, and I will be forever grateful to her for that because it was a hell of a lot more than my dad did. But that was where her care of me ended. There was no emotional support. No life advice. No affection. She'd decided that if my dad didn't want it, nobody else could have it either.
"I..."
One corner of Titus’s mouth lifts. "I know." He turns me, urging my feet to begin moving. "But you'll get used to it."
I don't foresee that happening. It's too strange. Too different.
Too close to what I've dreamed of a million times for me to trust it.
Stiffly, I slide into the seat he normally occupies, spinestraight as I watch him work across the island. After rummaging through the refrigerator and cabinets, Titus pulls out a skillet and cracks a few eggs into melted butter. While they fry, he lowers toast to brown, timing everything perfectly. In quick order, there's a plate sitting in front of me with expertly fried eggs, buttered toast, and a scoop of the prepared fruit I keep in the refrigerator.
Titus has cooked for me before, but it's always been something quick and very easy. This is too, but today I'm paying closer attention and I can't help but notice there's an amount of experience that went into the food. Thinking back, everything Titus has cooked has been properly prepared. Definitely not thrown together by an inexperienced hand.
I lift my eyes to meet his across the counter. "You know how to cook."
Titus shrugs, dropping my gaze as he carries his own plate around the island.
I spin on my stool to face him as he sits down beside me. "If you know how to cook, why have you been eating nothing but cereal and protein shakes?"
Titus doesn't look at me as he cuts a piece of egg and piles it on his toast, biting off the chunk before finally answering. "I ordered takeout sometimes too."
He's being cute, but I can't get distracted. I tilt my head, trying to force myself into his line of sight. "Why weren't you feeding yourself properly?"
After a few seconds, Titus slowly turns to face me, and the answer is right there. Part of it anyway.
