Then banged again.
“Not right now, Steffi,” he yelled out from behind the door – and she grabbed the handle, turning it, and barged in like she owned the place. His shocked eyes met hers as he rose to his feet, standing there.
Waiting.
“I’m sorry,” she managed to choke out, feeling something akin to tears clogging her throat and burning her eyes. She didn’t want to cry in front of him, didn’t want to appear weak… but this hurt. “I’m really sorry I’m such a twat.”
His lips twitched for a moment before he nodded and spoke. “You want some hot tea… Miss Twat?”
“Yes,” she nodded, realizing her knees were practically knocking against each other, frightened he’d throw her out of his house. “I’d love some.”
It was eerily quiet in the house as he moved toward the counter in the distance where a black electric teakettle sat, depressing the button. The silence seemed to echo, and she didn’t know what else to say to him. A part of her was afraid she’d make this, whatever this was, worse between them.
“You know…” Drake started softly, getting two ceramic mugs out of the cabinet. “When my brother Tommy gave me this kettle for Christmas a few years ago, I thought ‘this is dumb’ because I never drank hot tea. I was always a coffee or sports drink guy.”
Steffi moved a few feet toward him, listening and feeling like they were actually having a moment… about tea kettles. It was nothing and everything. He was talking to her, sharing about his family, and filling the silence that seemed so overwhelming – but maybe it was overwhelming to him too. Maybe they weren’t so different after all?
“He said,” Drake paused, his shoulders tensing. “My brother told me that I was stubborn and hardheaded, but that I should have a cup each evening and let myself unwind, enjoy themoments around me, and take a second to breathe… and he was right.”
“It’s a nice kettle,” she said quietly, unsure what to say or if a comment was even needed right now – and he chuckled softly, nodding.
“We never used a kettle growing up,” he admitted. “If Mom needed something, we’d boil water, microwave it, or make something in the coffeemaker… but a kettle was something fancy people had.”
Swallowing, she waited and took a step closer to him.
“A kettle was something other rich people had – but not us, not me,” Drake whispered softly as the kettle began to rumble and hiss, before he turned to look at her. “I grew up humble, broke… but like my stupid kettle and wish I had found it sooner because I enjoy these moments. It’s a kettle, you know? A stupid kettle. When it’s not there, I feel lost or empty, like I don’t know what to do with myself or don’t know how to unwind.”
She held his gaze, speechless… and a part of her wondered if he was talking about the kettle – or her.
“Ilikemy dumb, fancy, uptight kettle… and honestly - I was worried about you,” he repeated in a rough voice, his eyes looking painfully afraid. “Don’t ask me to explain it. Don’t ask me for more than that – because I can’t tell you why. Ilikemy kettle, and I wasworried. That’s it. Let’s just leave it at that for now.”
“I like your stupid,frou-froukettle too,” she whispered, nodding. “You don’t have to explain… and I should have texted. I’m sorry.”
“I shouldn’t have snapped.”
“Are we good?” she breathed, needing to know, and saw something flicker in his eyes as he nodded slowly.
“We’re good.”
“Cool.”
“Yep.”
The button at the base of the kettle popped upward in that moment – spurring Drake to move. He cleared his throat, looked away, and reached up in the cabinet, withdrawing two tea bags. It could have been cyanide-flavored tea in that moment, and she would have downed it with a smile on her face. Her eyes drank him in as he put each tiny bag in the cups, pouring the scalding water over them like it was nothing. He didn’t ask her opinion, didn’t say another word, just moved about like nothing big was happening in this moment – but it felt like everything was moving suddenly. He scooped a dollop of honey, putting the spoon into her cup, and then handed it to her, before making his own.
This was a weird – and sweet homey feeling.
Picking up his cup, Drake moved past her and rested a hand at her elbow, bringing her with him. She stepped carefully, moving beside him, almost as if this was a choreographed movement they’d done a thousand times instead of the first time. He took a seat on the couch, putting his cup on the coffee table, and she did the same.
Picking up the remote, he flipped on the television as she stared at his profile, unsure what to say or do. Without looking at her, he nudged the box in her direction.
“Size ten?”
“Huh?” she asked blankly, uncomprehending because it was so out of left field – only for him to look at her pointedly with a slight frown.
“You said you wear a size ten shoe, right?”
“Yes.”
