It wasn’t really a life I’d known.
Sure, my father would have cleaned up my wounds too. Likely while telling me all the ways I could avoid the injury in the future. But he wouldn’t have held me, wouldn’t have offered me comfort.
And guys I dated?
Forget about it.
The quirk of being so independent is no one really realizes your cup needs filling too. Except, of course, when you’re with someone else who was always used to pouring as well.
Maybe it was too soon to think about such things, but as I listened to Caymen moving around in the kitchen, I found myself thinking of ways I could show up for him the way he was showing up for me.
Lord knew it would never be cooking.
And letting him chase me through the woods didn’t count. Even if it did seem cathartic for him.
But, like me, Caymen had led a life that didn’t have a lot of softness, a lot of comfort. I could be those things for him. I could be a respite from everything.
“That’s a serious look,” Caymen said as he came into the room with a food tray. “I know, he even has a damn tray. He, or his staff, really does think of everything.”
He let the serious look thing slide. And I wasn’t about to say that I was thinking about make-believe future scenarios in my head about us… when things were still so new, still so based on forced proximity and near-death experiences.
“These seem decent,” he said as he set the tray down between us. “Eggs, cheese, sausage. Can’t really go wrong. The cornbread seems suspicious, though. And he only had vanilla syrup.”
“Hey, I’ll take it. Vanilla is always good.”
I picked a movie.
Then we just… ate breakfast, drank our coffee, and enjoyed each other’s company.
Suddenly, I could see every morning starting that exact way. Calm, comfortable, together.
We tiptoed back toward the kitchen, cleaning up our dishes, grabbing the bag full of first aid supplies Ama sent us away with, then got changed and made our way out toward the sun pad.
“Definitely needs to be part of the retirement plan,” Caymen said as the morning sun warmed our faces.
The beach wasn’t so far off that we felt like we were in the middle of the ocean, but we were far enough away that we couldn’t see anyone, that we felt like we were in our own little world.
Caymen pulled my legs onto his lap, carefully pulling off my brace, unwrapping my bandages, and inspecting my soles.
“What’s the verdict?”
“Honestly thought they would be worse. Still looking kinda angry, but seem like they’re clean and not inflamed.”
Once he was done with me, I did the same for him, ignoring his protests that he could do it himself.
“Mine might be better than you were expecting, but yours are a lot worse than I thought,” I told him, running the pad of my thumb near his arch where there was a deep, wide cut. “Zayn was sure this didn’t need stitches?”
“He didn’t think it needed them. I heal pretty quick. It’ll be fine. No signs of infection?”
“No. And that’s the only cut I think we need to keep our eyes on. Everything else is more superficial. If we can keep them clean and stay off of them, I think most of these will be sealed up by tomorrow.”
“That’ll be good. My calves hurt from tiptoeing everywhere.”
“Right? Mine too. Okay, deep breath,” I said before swiping some cream over the nasty cut.”
“No, come over here,” he said once I was done and went to slide back.
He grabbed me, pulling until I slid between his legs, my back resting against his chest.
