“Huh. Should’ve thought of that,” I admit.
It’s not enough.
I want to tell her she doesn’t have to pretend she’s okay.
I want to tell her she scared the shit out of me.
I want to tell her that I’ll worship her body every day if she’ll let me.
Instead, I pour coffee.
And immediately spill the coffee.
“Ah, shit.”
Kallie laughs.
The sound settles somewhere deep inside me.
Somewhere dangerous.
So we carry breakfast to the couch.
The dining room table is buried beneath paperwork, laptops, and whatever book Kallie is currently pretending she's going to finish.
Neither of us ever eats there anyway. We always end up here.
Me on one end. Her curled up on the other.
Somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like two roommates sharing an apartment and started feeling like... something else. And after this morning, pretending otherwise feels like a lie I’m getting worse at telling.
Damn it.
Kallie settles beside me and hands over a fork.
Sunny-side-up eggs. Bacon. Toast. Grapes.
The full treatment.
Which is weird enough on its own.
Breakfast like this is usually reserved for birthdays, holidays, or the occasional emotional crisis.
Considering yesterday involved a vampire trying to crush my throat, I guess this qualifies. I dig in immediately.
Kallie doesn’t.
She’s staring at her plate. Picking at the edge of her toast. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
Something twists in my gut.
“I was wondering…” Her voice trails off.
I lower my fork.
“Kal, whatever it is, just spit it out.”
Her eyes flick up to mine. For a second, she just stares.
