It’s not my business whether he has children or not. Hell, he could have a whole army of little thick-thighed hellions hidden somewhere, and it still wouldn’t concern me. But something about this grown man buying a tea set to appease his baby sisters brings a smile to my face and warmth to my chest.
“I can do those, just worry about your tea,” I assure him, climbing down from the stool, careful not to make the dreaded noise again.
“No, really, it’s my mess. I can—” He stops when my hand grazes his as I reach around him to run the water in the sink, an unexplainable jolt zipping up my fingertips that causes me to pull back.
“You cooked, I ate, so I can do the dishes. It’s really okay, Elijah. Accept the help once in a while,” I tell him, brushing the sensation of his skin against mine out of my mind as I move around him to scrape my food into the bin.
Accept help.That’s an annoyingly humorous statement coming fromme,of all people.
He thanks me and gets started on the tea. I finish the dishes and open the box, unpacking the pink and purple plastic, placing it in the warm, soapy water. Elijah dances around the kitchen, preparing a fragrant and light Darjeeling tea blend. I peek over my shoulder occasionally, unusually enthralled by the broad set of his shoulders straining against the thin fabric of his white V-neck. His biceps flex, the corded muscles rippling with each movement.
When the tea is steeped to the appropriate colour, he adds a couple of ice cubes from the freezer, peering at me sheepishly. “I’m not looking to get cancer from drinking scalding tea froma plastic tea set,” he explains, the words slithering out, so unnecessarily cruel, and he doesn’t even realise it.
I can’t fault him for the way my heart stops in my chest or the subtle shake of my hands as I nod, drying the last of the pink and purple princess mugs. I can’t blame him for something he has no reason to know is too fresh a wound for me not to react.
His eyes snap to mine, wide, sage green with a ring of grey around the outer edges I’d never noticed before. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he says, and my spine goes ramrod straight.How does he know?“That was so bloody insensitive.” He smacks his palm to his forehead, and the look of disappointment cuts right into me. “My mum is in remission now.”
His mum. Not me.Thank fuck.
“But she’d smack me upside the head if I’d said that around her, and rightfully so. I’ve just been down a recent rabbit hole of information. I know it annoys her, but when I start to get anxious because her remission anniversary is coming up and that feels like a jinx, I sort of bury myself in information to convince myself that she’ll be okay.” He glances away. “My most recent search led me to an article about microplastics and how they can be found in nearly one hundred per cent of men’s testicles and are believed to contribute to cancer and poor reproductive health.”
He sure is an anxious talker.
“You know, I read that study as well, but it was only performed on twenty-three human males and forty-six dogs. Microplastics are a definite concern, but I think your bollocks are probably safe for now,” I deadpan.
His mouth drops open, his pink tongue nearly rolling out like one of those bubble-gum commercials, before he snaps his jaw shut, turning away and gripping the edge of the counter.
“I can’t believe I just told her all that,” he mutters to himself, but he’s not exactly quiet. For his sake, I ignore him and head out of the kitchen, plopping down on the sofa.
I turn to the telly, training my focus on the screen as I click through reruns of the 2023 Women’s World Cup, landing on Spain versus England. Despite this being one of my favourite matches of that year, I find it hard to avoid stealing glances at Elijah, but I manage, at least for a little while. That is, until I can’t help myself any longer, flicking my gaze over to him only to find he’s already staring at me.
My cheeks warm, as do his, and we break the connection without a word.
His phone rings, and he rushes to answer. The sounds of two screaming little girls fill the room, and my shoulders stiffen, but I force them to relax. Children scream for many reasons, and that’s completely okay; it’s my reaction to any kind of loud sound that is less than desirable.
They settle down as a smooth, melodic voice cuts through their shouting. “Cool it.” She chuckles, and Elijah smiles wide, placing his gold-rimmed glasses back on as he picks up a cup of tea.
“You little ladies ready for our tea party?” he asks, saluting them with the small pink mug that looks warped in his massive hands.
“Yes!” they shout in excited unison.
The broad smile and eagerness shining through him at the prospect of this tea party are,regrettably, adorable.
“Alright, then let me get set up in my room so we don’t bother my flatmate and?—”
Just as I’m about to protest, not wanting him to feel he needs to leave the room for my comfort, one of his sisters interjects.
“You meanthe girl?!Can we meet her?”
He glances towards me, and I hear his mum’s voice next. “Yes, Lijah. Let us meetthe girl,” she says, chuckling at his expense. I think I like her already.
He sets his tea down, covering the speaker with a hand. “Do you mind saying hi?” he asks, his ears bright red. “They’re dying to meet you.”
Ah, yes, and unfortunately, I’m just dying.
“Sure. But only if you’ll share some of that tea with me.”
His worried expression shifts into a blinding grin that sets my heart galloping in my chest.How bloody annoying.
