“But still, Bells,” I say, “I didn’t want to come between you and them.”
She looks over her shoulder. “You didn’t.”
“I know how this looks,” I add. “You and me. It just feeds into what they already think.”
“So what… they already thought it, at least now it’s honest.”
She opens the fridge and pulls out eggs, milk, and leftover bacon.
Her hair is still wild from last night. Long curls are tangled and falling over her shoulders in a way that should look messy but somehow doesn’t. Instead, it just looks real.
“You said something to my aunt.” I change the subject.
“She deserved it.”
I lean one shoulder against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, watching her crack eggs into a bowl.
“What did you say?”
Her chin lifts. “She was staring at me, so I asked her what the fuck she was looking at.”
A short laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “Jesus.”
“Well, she treats you like shit.”
I look away briefly, focusing on the floor instead of the way her beautiful blue eyes blaze behind those glasses.
“You don’t have to fight my battles, Bells.”
“I wasn’t fighting your battle,” she says, cracking another egg against the bowl with unnecessary force. “I was pissed at you and took it out on her.”
That makes my mouth twitch. “So you were multitasking.”
“Yes, I suppose, but you should know I’m excellent at multitasking,” she fires back without missing a beat. “I can befurious at multiple people simultaneously. It’s a gift I was born with.”
The smirk breaks free before I can stop it. “That’s not the flex you think it is.”
“Says the guy who specializes in pissing people off just by existing.”
“Touché.”
She whisks the eggs with sharp, aggressive movements.
There’s a beat of silence before she lifts her head and studies me.“Is it always that cold in the trailer?”
I don’t answer immediately. Instead, I walk over to the kitchen island and sit on one of the stools while she continues whisking the eggs.
“Yes,” I say finally.
She swallows. “You don’t have a heater.”
“It died,” I tell her.
“And you just…”
“Manage,” I cut in.
Managing, that’s what my life is. A series of making do with broken things and pretending it’s fine.
