“So, this isn’t a fluke.”
“A fluke?”
“You didn’t learn how to make one meal and bust it out whenever you need to impress?”
“There was a box of instant waffle mix in the cupboard. I wouldn’t call that impressive.”
I smiled, watching his hands as he adjusted the burner. “You would do numbers as a social media chef.”
He snorted.
“No, seriously,” I said. He glanced at me, eyes alight with the warmth of a smoldering campfire. “You’re hot. You’ve got that dry sense of humor the kids are into these days.”
“The kids?” he repeated, pulling a face.
“In an alternate universe,” I went on, poking his arm, “you would’ve made a great chef.”
He was quiet for a moment, moving the bacon around the pan. “My mom is a chef.”
I looked up at him, breath catching. “Really?”
“She worked a lot. We didn’t see much of her. My brother and I sort of trained ourselves to wake up at midnight when she got home from the restaurant, and she’d make us scrambled eggs or pancakes or grilled cheese sandwiches.”
“That sounds nice.”
“It was.”
I didn’t want to push my luck, but I was greedy. “What about your dad?”
“He died when I was six. I don’t remember much about him.” He cleared his throat. “I just had my mom. And my brother.”
My legs turned to jelly and I leaned against the counter for support, unwilling to put all my weight on him. “Oh,” I whispered, eyes stinging. I ached for both of us; all this time I’d wondered what drew me to Dex, or him to us, and here it was. We were the same.
He reached for me, his hand squeezing my shoulder gently, a silent plea to let it go. He’d gotten the words out, but that was as far as he could go right now. I pressed my face into his arm, nodding.All the time you need.
“I can’t picture you as a kid,” I murmured. “What were you like?”
“I was different.”
“Different like you didn’t vacuum your car every day?”
“I was more… reckless. Selfish. Happy.” He shut the burner off and stepped away to deal with the waffle maker. “You wake up one day and the things you care about most are gone. Everything is obsolete in their absence. It’s not easy anymore.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. He may as well have punched me in the gut. “You have things,” I said. “You have friends who trick you into going to couples hotels. You have a job helping kids. You must find that a teensy bit rewarding. I mean, as long as it’s your actual job.”
“It’s not sketchy.” He carefully divided the waffles across the three plates, avoiding my eyes.
“You have a fourteen-year-old who is, like, obsessed with you,” I continued, the tension in my veins ebbing at the slight quirk of his lips. “And a hot elementary school teacher who is also obsessed with you.”
His lips pulled into a real smile. I could’ve floated to the ceiling. “Likewise,” he said. “But I don’t need the…” He gestured vaguely. “I’m okay with who I am.”
But who did you used to be?I wondered, watching him drop his attention to the plates.Weren’t you the one insisting time is the only thing that helps wounds like these?
As he walked over to the stove to grab the pan of bacon, he paused to press a kiss to my forehead. “I can hear your mind working,” he said quietly, giving my hip a slight squeeze. “You’ll drive yourself crazy.”
“Right,” I replied, forcing a smile. “I’m the one who’s driving.”
He forced a smile right back.
