Page 129

“It was either I learn how to feed myself or I didn’t eat.” He shrugs. “So I learned. With a shit-ton of fuckups along the way.”

“You almost sound proud.”

“Mistakes aren’t failures. They’re just lessons.”

I’ve never thought about it like that. To me, mistakes have always felt more like nails in a coffin. One too many and you’re trapped in a hell of your own making.

With his front brushing my side, we fold in the bananas. Khaos is gentle and supportive the whole time. The batter, however, is not. Maybe because it’s been sitting out for over an hour, or because it hates me, I’m not sure, but it’s a completely different texture after we’re finished. Crackly is the word that comes to mind. Lumpy, too. Crackly and lumpy.

Khaos doesn’t rush to remove his hand from mine.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” I say softly.

With our heads so close together, he has to lean sideways a bit to look me in the eyes.

“Was it?”

“I…think…so.” Don’t I? Admittedly, it’s kind of hard to think clearly about anything right now. Khaos’s proximity always muddles things, specifically my thoughts.

“Different-good though, right?” His whisper is a caress.

A confusing caress. Are we in the middle of a conversation I’m unaware of? I wrack my brain over the last several seconds, coming up empty.

“Um, what are you talking about?”

“Before. You said it was different. With me. Different-good?”

That?

My mouth opens and closes, drawing Khaos’s gaze south. I swear even his head moves in that direction.

An obnoxious ding makes me jump.

I shoot the oven a glare before aiming it at Khaos. I know what he’s doing, trying to get me to say he was better than Guy.

“It’s not a competition.”

He chuckles as he steps away, finally releasing his hold on me. With a shake of his head, he says, “You’re right. There’s no competition.”

“How was that?”

“Perfect.” I give Khaos my biggest smile, even adding in a shoulder shimmy. Because I can’t help it, I clap, too.

That earns a headshake but I don’t care. I’m so proud of him. And me. I taught him that.

We’ve been down here practicing that breaststroke I attempted to teach him last time we were in the pool and he finally got it.

Khaos swims all the way back to me from the other side of the pool. He. Swims. By himself.

By the time he reaches me, I feel like I’m glowing.

When Khaos comes to a stop and stands, he slams his hands down a little too hard, splashing water up at me.

“Oh, shit. Sorry.”

“That’s okay.” I’m already wiping my face, laughing. “You just swam. You can swim.”

“Yeah,” he says, somewhat winded. “Not great, but I didn’t sink.”