He was hard at work on his next book, which I’d discovered meant he tended to forget to eat.
Or sleep.
I wasn’t sure how he’d survived all this timewithoutme, but I was making sure he’d survive now.
Especially since he had a whole new contract with his first publisher that he was determined not to overshoot any deadlines on. They’d welcomed him back with open arms, and he was grateful.
So was I. Felix was never happier than when he got to tell a story.
“I like this one,” Felix said, pulling it tighter around himself, his thumb poking through a hole between the cuff and the sleeve. “Still smells of you.”
“It really doesn’t,” I said. “And I haveotherhoodies that smell of me. Ones you haven’t been wearing every day for two weeks. Ones I don’t have to sneak away from you to wash.”
“You’re just making my argument for me,” Felix said. “I likethishoodie. I love this hoodie. You gave it to me.”
He picked up the sandwich, inspected the contents, and then shoved nearly a quarter of it in his mouth at once.
“I can give you another one.”
“But you gave methisone,” Felix insisted. I was starting to get the feeling I’d never really understand. It was just a hoodie, I had half a dozen of them and I threw them out when they got too worn to wear.
Felix had worn this one thin already. One of the pockets was hanging loose at the corner, the zip was busted, the cord was gone, and there was a hole in the cuff.
It was pilled and frayed at the edges and two shades lighter than it had been when I handed it to him, a washed-out blue instead of the deep navy it’d started out.
“You gave me this one the minute you saw me again because I was cold. Even thoughyouwere cold, too,” Felix explained, taking another bite of his sandwich. “This is good.”
“It’s got that herb butter I made over the weekend,” I explained.
Having someoneelseto cook for was turning me into the kind of person who made herb butters from their collection of potted herbs on the windowsill, despite the fact that I couldn’t have kept a plant alive to save my own skin before.
This was different. Felix made a little happy noise when I fed him things he really liked, so I was highly motivated to figure out the whole cooking thing. Beyond the basics.
“Can I take some of that back with me?” he asked, eyes pleading. “It’ll remind me of you.”
I snorted. “You mean it’ll taste great on the sandwiches you’re planning to live on while you’re in New York,” I said.
Felix shrugged. “It’ll remind me that I miss you, and your cooking, and this place.”
“If there’s any left by then, it’s yours,” I promised, already planning to make up another batch for him.
Felix opened his mouth to say something—thank you, I assumed—when the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” he said, jumping out of his chair and leaving one neatly-cut half of his sandwich behind.
On the street outside, I could see a postal van parked right in front of the building.
Maybe Felix was expecting something?
I thought about eating the other half of his sandwich while he wasn’t looking, but I couldn’tquitebring myself to do it.
Devin had told me earlier in the week that I was getting soft when I let Felix eat my fries right off my plate like he was some kind of potato-eating stray cat.
What Devin didn’t know was that there were rewards to keeping Felix happy. Sexy rewards.
So yeah, I wasmotivated.
“They’rehere,” Felix enthused from the door. “Thank you so much,” he called after the postal worker, hauling a box inside and dumping it on the coffee table.
