I crack the bedroom door open.
The smell of coffee hits me. CJ is already awake. Of course he is. My stomach tightens. The idea of facing him feels too big, too close, too soon.
“Shit. So much for a quick escape,” I mutter.
Leaving my duffel behind, I follow the smell down the hallway. The thought of leaving dies the second I step into the kitchen.
I reek.
I’m still wearing the same clothes CJ found me in last night. I lift my shirt and sniff.
Yep.
Definitely need a shower.
I clear my throat and hover awkwardly in the doorway as CJ turns.
He smiles.
“Sleep alright?”
I consider lying, but then I remember he’s the one who gave me a bed.
“No.” I watch him carefully, waiting for the questions. My throat feels tight. Saying it out loud makes the exhaustion settle deeper into my bones.
“It wasn’t the bed.” I clarify. “I just don’t sleep well.”
The concern. The pity. None of it comes; He simply nods.
“Well, coffee’s made. Cups are in that cupboard.” He points toward the corner.
“Milk’s in the fridge.”
I pour myself a mug and take my first sip of real coffee since leaving Port Angeles.
CJ grins.
“You’ve definitely been living in your car.”
I smile.
“How can you tell?”
He points at my face, Becausethatwas a religious experience.”
My smile lingers longer than I expect.
“Here I was thinking you were suggesting I needed a shower.”
Without missing a beat, he points down the hallway.
“It’s down there.”
Turning back to the sink, he rinses his cup before setting it in the sink. I watch him move around the kitchen. His smile catches me first. I hadn’t noticed last night, but he has a dimple. They are my kryptonite. That dimple should be illegal.
Heat creeps up my neck as I take him in, and hoping he didn’t notice the way my breath caught.
Then his eyes. They are a Forget-me-not blue, like the ones I’d only ever seen in wildflowers that lived behind my foster parents’ house. The rain would hit them, and they would catch the light and hold it, impossibly beautiful.
