Though after the way he distanced himself from me then established we’re just friends, I’m sure it’s the last thinghewants.
He catches my reflection and turns with a mug in hand. Instead ofgood morning, the first thing out of his mouth is: “Did you take your pill?”
I frown. “My…pill?”
“Levothyroxine,” he says, lifting his mug to his lips. “Empty stomach, before breakfast.”
A wave of elation hits me, making my skin tingle. Clearly, he was paying attention to Dr. Bell. It means he actually cares.
“Yeah, I took it. It’s been my routine for ten years. I don’t see that changing.”
He nods and takes a sip of his drink.
“Why are you up so early?” I open the fridge.
“Couldn’t sleep. Everything’s too loud again.” He gestures to the coffeepot. “I made enough for two, but I wasn’t sure if you’re supposed to drink coffee now.”
“Thanks. I’m going to make an omelet with spinach.” I straighten and peer over at him. “Want one?”
“That’d be great.” He snaps his mouth shut and shakes his head. “Dammit. It’s me who needs to take care of you…and I’m already failing.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not sick, I’m pregnant, and I feel good enough to take care of myself.” I shrug. “Besides, I love to cook.”
“I missed your food like crazy while you were in California. You sure you aren’t a witch? Because I’m pretty sure you bewitched me with your cooking,” he muses.
“Maybe part witch.” With a wink, I turn to quickly crack four eggs into a bowl and whisk them, adding a splash of milk. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”
He doesn’t reply, and I don’t insist.
He sits at the bar while I put the skillet on the stove and add butter. It melts with a soft hiss, the scent spreading through the kitchen. Once I’ve poured the eggs into the skillet, I toss in a handful of fresh spinach and season it with a bit of salt. The whole time, hekeeps his eyes trained on me. I can feel his attention, even with my back turned. It’s like a summer rain pouring down on me, like a gentle caress on my skin. Maybe it’s a weird analogy, but I can’t help myself. I love rain, and I would’ve done anything for one rainy day this summer.
I tilt the pan just right and nudge the edges in with a spatula, relishing the moment. It feels special. Important. The two of us in his kitchen, me making breakfast, him watching me. I’m filled with warmth and a sense of comfort. As I settle into the sensation, I can’t help but wonder what our future will be like. Will I stay here until the baby is born? Will I move back to my place? Or to an apartment nearby?
Teeth digging into my bottom lip, I close my eyes, grounding myself. It’s too soon to think about all that. So many things could change in the next seven months, and I realize that since I moved in yesterday, I haven’t once considered the two of us might become something more than what we are now.
Maybe I’m finally moving on?
“Ry?”
I shudder at the sound of his voice. It’s much closer than I expected.
He’s at my side, his shoulder brushing mine, his eyebrows pulled together. “Didn’t you hear me? I asked if you needed help.”
“Oh, sorry. I got lost in my thoughts.” I give him a sheepish smile. “Will you get plates?”
He nods, studying me, then shuffles to the cupboard.
“Thanks.”
While we sit, he’s relaxed, but I can’t stop fidgeting.
“Mm, delicious,” he murmurs after he takes his first bite.
“Glad you like it.” I pick up my glass of apple juice. “How do you feel now?”
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
“You said you couldn’t sleep. Are you feeling okay?”
