“Okay. What else?”
“I don’t know… when I was a kid I liked to bake.”
“Yeah?” He looks up. “What did you bake?”
“I loved baking cakes and decorating them. I wanted them to look really fancy like the ones on Pinterest, but mine never did.” I smile ruefully. “Also cookies. I also decorated them all fancy.”
“You could do that now. Since you’re not working.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
Blake and Harper and Mom and Dad all stressed to me that even though we may have canceled the tour, I have business stuff to do. Songs to write. Working out every day to stay in shape. I didn’t argue with them, but I know there’s no point in all that.
He pours eggs into the pan. “Some time off will be good for you.”
Okay, I like this guy, but who the hell does he think he is? He doesn’t even know me! He doesn’t realize that I need constant structure in my life or my erratic impulses will take over. Without my work, I’ll be… a hot mess. “I’m not sure about that.”
He nods and folds an omelet in half. It smells amazing. “Okay.”
He’s babying me again.
“Do you think I’m going to lose my shit if you argue with me?” I demand.
His head jerks up and his mouth thins. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means I’m not a child. You’re treating me like I’m a fragile baby. You’re trying to tell me what to do, but this ismylife.”
He purses his lips and nudges an acceding shrug. “You’re right.”
My eyes narrow at his quick agreement.
He bites back a smile. “I can’t argue with that, beautiful. Here, your omelet is ready.”
I glare at the plate he sets in front of me. Something burns inside my chest. I grab the fork and knife and violently saw off a piece of omelet, then stuff it into my mouth.
I don’t even taste it. Then I take a second bite and it’s pretty good. After the third bite I want to moan. He’s a good cook. “Why do you have to be so fucking perfect?”
He barks out a laugh as he sits next to me. “I am far from perfect.”
“True. You’re actually kind of bossy.”
He tilts his head, chewing his food. He swallows, then says, “Nobody’s ever accused me of that before.” He calmly cuts another piece of omelet.
I’m being an absolute shit to him and he’s not even getting riled. I sigh. What am I getting all annoyed about? He’s going to leave after we eat, and I won’t have to see him again.
I ignore the pinch in my heart.
Once he’s gone, I’ll be alone. I can do whatever I want. Lie in bed. Stare into space for hours. Maybe check some emails.
I don’t want to check emails.
Everything seems so trivial. What’s the point? Peopledied.
“Whatever,” I mutter. “Thanks for making this. It’s good.” It’s also huge, and I can’t eat it all, but Marek takes my plate and finishes it.
“A piece of toast would have been good with this.”
I open my mouth and then catch the teasing glimmer in his eye. I press my lips together.
