“By now, my dad would have a whole banquet ready,” she says, her voice softening. “Eggs. Sausages. Bacon. Hash browns. You name it. Coffee that tastes like tar. He used to hum while he cooked. It drove me nuts.”
She releases a small breath that isn’t quite a laugh, then stops mid-thought and just stares at the counter.
She swallows hard, lifts her hand, and presses the lever on the toaster. The click sounds too loud in the quiet kitchen.
“I miss it already,” she whispers. “The noise.”
Her voice fractures on the last word, and a tear slips down her cheek before she can hold it back.
I push off the stool and walk around the counter.
While she’s staring at the toaster, I step in behind her and wrap my arms around her.
Her body goes still for a breath, surprise flickering through her shoulders. Then she leans back into me.
And it feels natural.
Easy.
As if this is where I’ve always stood.
Her back presses against my chest. She fits there—too well. My hands rest low on her stomach, thumbs brushing the fabric of her sweater. I feel the shaky inhale she tries to control, the way she steadies herself.
“You don’t have to be tough all the time,” I murmur.
She exhales a breath that nearly turns into a laugh. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m just… functioning.”
Another tear slips free, and this time she wipes it away with her fingers.
“Bells.”
She huffs quietly. “It’s just weird. One minute he’s here, humming off-key and burning the bacon, and the next…” Her voice thins. “It’s quiet.”
“Do you want me to go with you today?” I ask.
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
She shifts slightly in my arms to look at me. “What about school?”
I shrug. “School will survive without me.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” I say, lifting my hand and wiping a tear from her cheek with the pad of my finger. “Most days I only show up to scope out who I’m going to fuck in the third-floor bathroom anyway.”
She jerks in my hold. “Gross.”
“What?” I grin. “Honesty’s a good quality.”
“That is not honesty. That’s a cry for help.”
“My cock disagrees.”
