Page 27 of Mommy

I stretch and sit up. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I listen for a noise and sure enough: there is a faint rumbling downstairs.

I would bet good money that it’s Derek making breakfast for the both of us.

Letting loose one more yawn I slip out of bed. My clothes are washed and folded on the bedside table and I put them back on before I make my way downstairs.

Something about this feels oddly familiar. Sure, I’ve been here before but it’s not that. There are places I’ve been to a thousand times and still they don’t have this effect on me.

At Derek’s house, I feel kind of at home.

That’s ridiculous.

And shows how desperate I am.

Washed clothes and breakfast don’t make a home. I know that. But still…I’m not sure my heart does because it flips in my chest when I find Derek in the kitchen.

He’s already in his uniform, the police badge making my stomach flutter for no good reason. The police never protected me after all.

“Good morning, Sweetheart.”

What is it with him and the nicknames?

“Morning.” I murmur back.

Derek hands me a cup and this time, there’s tea in it. I wrap my hands around it and hide my smile by blowing into the steam that hovers up up up in an endless cloud.

Stealing a glance at the kitchen clock, I relax into the bar stool. Not even 7am, so I have lots of time to finish breakfast and be at the shelter in time.

“Did you sleep well?”

I nod, blowing on my tea once more.

“Good.”

There’s a smile in Derek’s voice, and when I look up at him, I find his green eyes on me.

He finishes breakfast and sets a full plate down in front of me. Giving me an encouraging nod, he fills his own—that honestly puts mine to shame sizewise— and grabs his mug from the counter before coming around the kitchen island to sit next to me.

For a few minutes we just sit side by side, eating our breakfast. I’m about halfway through when I realize that I don’t feel as full as I did last time.

Funny.

Shovelling another fork full of omelet into my mouth, I tap on my phone screen to check my notifications.

Before I can make out anything through the spiderweb display that is the screen, it turns black again.

What the— I charged this, didn’t I?

Before I can tap on the screen again, Derek’s hand grabs mine, holding my fingers in his huge palm.

“Don’t.” He just says without looking up from his breakfast.

My eyebrows rise to my hairline.

“Why?” The bite in my tone is anything but playful and I struggle to wiggle my fingers free.

“Because you deserve a slow morning without worrying about anybody but yourself,” he answers. The way he says it, sounds like it’s the most natural thing of all. It makes me drop my hand back onto the table and instead of reaching for my phone, I grab my cup.

The tea he made me tastes delicious. Way better than what I drink at the shelter.