If he was showing her how to have an unplanned adventure, maybe she could show him how to really feel everything and not get overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensations.
Renata: Any word from Frontline?
Darla: No. They said a couple of weeks.
Patrice: Are you ready to withdraw your application yet?
No, she wasn’t. She’d need something new to keep her fulfilled once the end came to her time in California.
Darla: No. And I’m gonna go to sleep now.
She was going to try, at least. There would likely be little sleep happening for her tonight.
Renata: ’night
Patrice: Keep us posted.
Renata: With lots o’ details.
Darla really didn’t sleep great, tossing and turning all night. So she was up early, showered, fixed her makeup and hair, got dressed in a simple pair of jeans with a tank top that would look good if she and Mach attracted more paparazzi, and then sorted through the kitchen to figure out what she could whip up for breakfast. Unfortunately, this kitchen was not an ingredient kitchen—it was a frozen meals and cereal in the pantry kind of kitchen.
Lucky for Mach, supermarkets delivered early in their part of Los Angeles, so she was flipping pancakes when he emerged from his bedroom. The fact that he woke up looking as deliciously yummy as he did was the epitome of unfair. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, which wasverynice. And the shorts he wore left little to the imagination, which was even nicer.
"’Morning," she said, cheerful and hoping to broadcast that she wasn’t upset with him leaving her alone last night—but that was a lot to stuff into one word.
"G’morning," he said, his gaze studying her, then the pancakes, then back to her.
"I made breakfast," she announced, holding up the spatula.
"I see that," he said, and he was blinking like she was a mirage, and he was trying to make his brain work.
"Shower or eat first?" she asked, intentionally avoiding any mention of last night or his evacuation so he wouldn’t get skittish.
His eyebrows fell together, and he moved to the coffee pot to pour himself a cup. "Food."
She flashed a smile and plated the pancakes for him, tossing on a couple slices of bacon, then sliding the plate to one of the spots with a counter-height stool.
He started in on the pancakes, took a bite, chewed, swallowed, and looked right at her. "I fucked up last night."
She gnawed at the inside of her lips.
Oh no, no, no, no… had she misread it and he really did feel forced into doing what they’d done? A blanket of heavy disappointment started to settle on her shoulders. "You mean the part where I…and you…and then only I…"
He pressed a hand on his hip, one leg on the bottom bar of the stool, one on the ground. He shook his head. "No. The part where I jetted."
Oh, thank God.
She pinched her lips together, so she didn’t say that out loud.
"It’s okay," she said, instead. "It was a really long day. And super fun, really. I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun condensed into such a small bit of time."
He caught her gaze with his, tangling them up together. "It’s not okay that I left you like that, and I’m sorry."
Well, since he brought it up…
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.
He looked at her like she’d been snorting baking powder while fixing breakfast.
