I start to hum to myself to block out the voice and decide to get dressed. I sit up and, careful not to look down at myself, pull back the duvet just as the door swings open.
“I’m making pancakes if you— Woah!” Connor covers his eyes with his hands when he notices I’m in my underwear.
I rush to cover myself and feel my cheeks heating with embarrassment. We both start talking at the same time.
“What the hell…?”
“I heard you talking on your phone…”
“You should have knocked!”
“I didn’t know you were naked!”
“I’m not naked, I’m wearing underwear,” I huff.
“So, I can’t even see the good stuff?” Connor says with asmirk as he peeks through his spread fingers.
I lob a pillow at his face, which would have been much more impressive if it hadn’t missed him completely and landed on the floor two feet to his left.
“I’m sorry! It was instinct.” He makes a show of covering his eyes again but doesn’t show any sign of leaving. “Do you always sleep in your undies, then?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I forgot to pack pyjamas.” I pull the duvet close around my neck, my face on fire.
“Why didn’t you borrow some of Ivy’s?”
“I didn’t think.” The lie rolls smoothly off my tongue. “It was late, and I was upset.” Friends now or not, I don’t want to get into a conversation with Connor about my weight issues. “I’m going back to the house to pick up some more stuff this morning, anyway, so no need to worry, you won’t catch me like this again.”
“I wasn’t worried,” he says. “You need breakfast before you leave. Pancakes will be ready in ten.” Connor leaves, shutting the door behind him and I hear his footsteps retreat down the stairs.
It takes the entire ten minutes for my face to calm down to its normal pale hue. I quickly throw on some leggings and a hoodie, pile my hair onto my head in a bun, brush my teeth in the bathroom and head downstairs. I follow the smell of pancakes like a cartoon character following the smell of a freshly baked pie cooling on a windowsill.
Connor is standing at the hob, expertly flipping a pancake. He adds it to the Leaning Tower of Pancakes on the plate next to him and adds more batter to the pan. The pancakes look golden and fluffy and perfect, and the smell makes my mouth water.
Greedy pig.
I hum instinctively to centre myself, which catches Connor’s attention. He throws me a smile over his shoulder before his face falls. He looks disappointed. What did I do?
“What?” I ask, frantically trying to figure out what I’ve donewrong.
“You got dressed! I thought walking around in our underwear was going to be standard procedure from now on.”
“Dick,” I say, relieved. His teasing doesn’t come off as mean, like it used to, but playful.
“How many pancakes?” he asks, grabbing a plate from the high cupboard. His grey T-shirt lifts as he stretches to reveal an inch of toned back.
“None for me, thanks, I don’t really eat breakfast.” This isn’t a total lie. I don’t eat breakfast, usually. But not because I don’t want to, it’s just an easy way of cutting a few calories.
Connor looks at me like I’ve suggested going on a killing spree. “Don’t be ridiculous! My pancakes are the best you’ll find for miles. Besides, you must be starving after only having one piece of pizza last night, so sit down and eat.”
He piles three pancakes onto a plate, drowns them in maple syrup and slides it over to me along with a bowl of sliced strawberries.
I sit at the breakfast bar overlooking the kitchen and stare at my plate. How do I tackle this? I can’t just not eat them, or he’ll be offended. I could cut them up and push them to one side of the plate to make it look like I ate some? I could ask him for his recipe, input it into my calorie app and weigh each pancake to at least track what I do eat, but that would take ages.
“Eat,” Connor repeats and hands me a fork.
“Okay, thanks.” I’ll just have one, then adjust my lunch to make up for it. Connor seems satisfied as I take a bite and turns to his own plate of six pancakes.
“What time are we leaving?” he asks as I spoon strawberries onto my plate.
