She gets me hard too easily. I feel like a damn teenager around her. It’s never been like this with anyone else.
“Think you can eat anything? I can make you soup if you want. It’ll warm you up.”
She considers for a moment. I focus on stretching her fingers to keep from smoothing out the thoughtful wrinkle between her eyebrows. Her small pout makes it hard not to crumble to the desire to kiss her.
“I want…pancakes. It’s what my mom would make whenever I was sick.”
“My comfort food is mac n’ cheese,” I admit with a chuckle.
Her smile is sleepy. “Yum.”
As she drifts off, I caress her cheek with my thumb. When I’m sure she’s asleep, I bring her hand to my lips, brushing the lightest kiss over her knuckles before I gently tuck it beneath the blanket.
A flickering ember grows within me, filling my chest with a feeling I don’t know how to name. Taking care of someone else is foreign. She awakens this impossible to ignore instinct, one that feels like a completely natural role to step into for her.
I sit for a few minutes watching her before plugging in her space heater and adjusting it until I’m satisfied she’ll be comfortable.
I hover in the doorway, an unseen tether pulling taut with each step. I scrub my face with a short laugh for being weird. She’s fine. I’ll be back soon.
It doesn’t take more than an hour to go to the store for medicine to fight her fever and pancake ingredients. It’s earlyafternoon by the time I’m back at her place. I put her key on the labeled hooks by the door, then check on her.
Eve is still passed out. Snoring softly.
My mouth curves as I go to her kitchenette to look for a mixing bowl and pan. Her apartment feels like her, from the vibrant mug collection I find in one cabinet to her mismatched set of measuring cups from two different sets to the stash of coffee outnumbering everything else in her pantry. I like being in her space.
Not long after I start cooking, she wakes up.
“You’re cooking?”
I turn from the frying pan to find her poking her head out from the hall. She looks more refreshed after her nap. I offer a crooked smile as she pads closer. She ditched the hoodie, but she kept my coaching jacket on.
“You wanted pancakes. I got you some tea too in case your throat is sore.”
“You made me pancakes,” she murmurs when she reaches my side. “Why are you the best?”
I switch the spatula into my other hand and rub her back. “Because it’s what you needed.”
A small noise catches in her throat. She ducks her head, covering her mouth. I pretend I didn’t notice.
“Hungry?”
“Yeah, they smell amazing.”
She steps back from the stove and sweeps her hair into a fresh ponytail. It draws my attention to her kissable nape until I smell something burning.
“Shit.” I scramble to flip the pancake. “Sorry. I was on a roll without scorching any.”
She releases a crackling laugh. “It’s okay. I actually like them a little burnt.”
“There’s medicine on the table and I refilled your water bottle,” I say while I finish off the last of the batter.
“I’m surprised.” She tears into the packet and pops the dose.
“About what?”
“You. You’re all domesticated now.”
“Because I know how to make pancakes?” I ask dryly, bringing the plate to the table.
