I poured coffee into my favorite mug.A small thing, offering her this particular mug.Probably wouldn’t even register with her.But it mattered to me, this subtle claiming.
She opened her eyes as I approached the bed.Her gaze swept the room, then fixed on me.The wariness stayed, but something else lingered beneath it, something which, with time, could become trust.
“Morning.”I offered the mug.
Her fingers brushed mine as she took it, no flinch this time.Progress.“Thank you,” she murmured, voice rough with sleep.She sat up, my T-shirt hanging loose around her shoulders, revealing collarbones too sharp beneath pale skin.
“Hungry?”I asked.
A nod, and a faint smile disappearing almost instantly.“I could eat.”
I moved back to the kitchen as she slipped from the bed, taking the mug with her to the bathroom.My leather cut hung from a hook by the door, the Reckless Kings emblem catching early morning light.Strange seeing it there instead of on my back or her shoulders.A physical reminder of the claim I’d made, of boundaries redrawn.
The refrigerator hummed as I pulled out stuff to make breakfast.Behind me, the bathroom door opened, and Callie emerged wearing her jeans from yesterday -- cleaned and dried overnight -- and still swimming in my T-shirt.She’d tied it at her waist, creating some semblance of fit, and rolled the sleeves to free her hands.The bandages at her wrists were stark white against her skin.
“Can I help?”she asked, hovering at the kitchen threshold.
“Coffee’s fresh if you need another cup.”I nodded toward the pot.
She moved with quiet efficiency, pouring coffee, locating sugar in the pantry without having to ask.Something domestic in the scene pulled at me -- her in my kitchen, morning light catching in her hair, the simple act of making coffee together.A life I’d never imagined for myself until one dark road changed everything.
We settled at the worn wooden table by the window, plates steaming between us.Sunlight filtered through the blinds I kept partially closed, habit born of years living on the defensive.Strips of gold fell across the table, across her hands as they gripped the fork, across the curve of her neck where her pulse beat steady beneath skin.
“Good?”I asked, nodding toward her nearly empty plate.
“Really good,” she admitted.“Thank you.”
When we finished, she stood before I could, gathering plates with practiced movements.I followed her to the sink, falling into a rhythm without discussion -- me washing, her drying.The routine felt natural, as if we’d done this a hundred mornings.
Her hand brushed mine as I passed her a dripping plate, our fingers touching beneath the suds.Neither of us acknowledged it, but neither pulled away.Small victories.
“Your wrists don’t seem to bother you as much,” I observed, nodding toward the bandages as she set the dried plate on the counter.
She glanced down as if surprised to find them there.“You’re right, they don’t hurt as much.The antiseptic helped.”
My gaze moved instinctively toward the windows, checking locks, scanning the tree line beyond the glass.Old habits.Necessary ones.
“Is something out there?”she asked, catching the movement.
“No,” I assured her, though we both knew the truth lingered unspoken.Something was out there -- someone -- just not visible yet.“Just checking.”
She nodded, understanding without need for explanation.“You do it a lot.Check the windows, the doors.”
“Habit.”I handed her the last plate.
“A good one,” she replied, drying it carefully.“Kept me alive these past months.”
The simple statement hung between us.I watched her place the plate with the others.The woman I’d found broken on the roadside lingered beneath the surface, while something stronger pushed forward -- a core of steel built by escape and survival.
“There’s coffee left.”I gestured toward the pot.“Want more?”
“Please.”
I refilled our mugs, and we moved back to the table by silent agreement.Morning light had strengthened, illuminating dust motes dancing between us.Outside, birds called to each other, oblivious to human concerns.Inside, we sipped our coffee, establishing a tentative peace in the quiet.
I held her gaze across the table and saw what she wasn’t saying.Not just about the threat circling her, but about us.About the claim I’d made and what it meant.
We’d take it one day at a time.Keep her safe.Handle whatever needed handling.I wasn’t making promises about forever.I was promising protection.Action.Control over the chaos trying to claw its way into her life.
