“I’m not going back to Rockingham or getting traded because I’m in love with my best friend and she lives in Melbourne.”
Cheryl froze like a rabbit in headlights. “You…”
“I’ve said it before.” Patrick let go of the door frame. “I’m in love with you, and you’re here banging my door down at five-thirty in the morning because you think I’m leaving. So come inside and have a hot chocolate.”
Her fierce expression wavered, but she took a step away from him. He thought of his dream; Cheryl standing in quicksand, letting it take her down rather than need him. He kept his friendly smile in place as he moved back into his house. “I have marshmallows. And I think there are some Tim-Tams lying around…”
Cheryl narrowed her eyes. “One hot chocolate?”
That’s it, honey. Reach out to me. “One.”
She hesitated a second longer, then stomped past him. Patrick inhaled Midnight Black Musk oil and smiled so wide it hurt. No matter how mad Cheryl was, she was here.
He’d had some dark days in the past fortnight, times when it was hard to talk or get out of bed, but he’d held on to what Eden had said. She always does right by the people she loves. In his heart he’d known she was right, known Cheryl would come back. He was just glad it was before he went grey.
“I’m not staying,” Cheryl said when they reached his kitchen, but something in her voice and the way she scanned his half-naked body made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.
Don’t push. Let her make up her own mind.
“You’re up early,” he said, flicking on his kettle. “Or late.”
“That’s the fault of one Eden Jade Cartwright, who will soon be dead.”
He laughed as Cheryl braced her hands on his dining table. “Are you doing this on purpose?”
“Huh?”
“Showing up at the door all shirtless and in your underwear?”
“Ah, Cheryl, I think that’s got a lot more to do with you bashing my door down in the middle of the night?”
She was now staring at his body with something close to fury. “Can you at least put pants on?”
He looked down and saw he had a pretty significant bulge happening. Smirking, he went to his pantry for the instant chocolate. “Nope.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s my house and it’s the middle of the night.”
“It’s the morning.”
“Still.”
He flexed his back as he reached for the marshmallows and heard an angry hiss. He could practically feel the pent-up energy in Cheryl. It had taken all her strength to stay away, and now that she’d caved, she was desperate for him to touch her. He knew the feeling. Once he’d given into the urge to jack off to the memories of what happened at Heavenly Stays, he’d been doing it four times a day. But if Cheryl Karalis-Walker wanted his dick so bad, she’d have to talk to him first.
She stayed silent as he poured boiling water into the mug. When the chocolate powder had swollen into foam, he sprinkled pink and white marshmallows on top. They tasted like chalk, but he kept them for Cheryl. She loved adding little touches to things. Fresh coriander in stir fry. Blueberries in sparkling water. She sewed sparkly patches onto her clothes, and bought birthday cards from street stalls instead of the supermarket. She saw moving parts where other people saw solids; places where you could improve things. Make them special.
When her hot chocolate was done, he put the mug on the dining table in front of her. She took it with both hands but didn’t drink. “Patrick…?”
“Yeah?”
She opened her mouth but didn’t speak. He folded his arms across his chest and waited. It could have been his own delusional hopes, but it felt like something was shifting. That the glacier Cheryl had kept between them was starting to melt.
“Thanks for my drink,” she said, taking a sip.
“Anytime.” He was disappointed but not surprised. He returned to his kettle to make himself a cup of tea and Cheryl spoke.
“I can’t be like Pastizzis.”
