“That’s amazing, Keith. Truly. They must be proud.”
“The pride is mutual. Did you sleep well?”
There’s a wild gleam to his eyes I can’t quite place as he asks that.
He pours a ladle of what can only be waffle batter onto the iron and closes the lid. Then he checks on the chicken that’s bubbling and popping in the oil. I can’t stop staring at him, utterly perplexed.
“Um. Not great, actually. You?” Because it suddenly dawns on me he’s wearing the same outfit he was yesterday. And now that I think about it, I don’t remember hearing him come back home after he tore out of here after dropping me off.
He laughs and the sound is a bit manic. “Haven’t gone to bed yet.”
Okay then. I really don’t want to think about where he was all night or what he was doing.
“Hungry? I’m making you breakfast. Chicken and waffles okay? Beth gave me the recipe and told me you’d love it.” Before I can formulate a response, he continues. “Sit. Here, have some coffee.”
He pours me a cup and walks it around the island to hand it to me, kissing my cheek before he returns to the food. He kissed my cheek. Not my lips. I think that one gesture just said more than anything else. But really, what did I expect? He’s trying to bring us back to us, and I need to fall in line with that.
After all, I set those rules.
I take a sip of my coffee and smile at him. Because I can do this. I really can. “The food smells amazing. I can’t believe you went to all this trouble.” For a peace offering, I don’t add. That’s what this is, right? A sweet one. A considerate one. One that shows he does, in fact, care about me.
So these other yucky feelings? The ones souring my stomach with churning acid? They can fuck off.
“Especially since you didn’t sleep,” I tack on.
He grins. He hasn’t stopped. It’s a little disconcerting after his week of non-stop growling.
“It’s nothing. I wanted to make something special for you.”
Shut up, Keith. Just stop talking and looking at me and smiling.
Of course, he doesn’t. “I was thinking after we eat, and I clean up, we could sack out on the couch and watch one of your movies. It’s a shitty day out. Can I fix you a plate?”
“Uh. Sure. Thanks. Can I do anything?”
He shakes his head. “No. You sit there and look beautiful. I’ve got this.”
Pulling out the steaming waffle from the iron, he drops it onto a plate and then adds a piece of chicken directly on top of it. He lathers the whole thing with some kind of maple syrup that’s a touch more golden than brown and cuts it all up for me because I can’t.
So he’s doing it for me. Again. Damn him.
He sets it in front of me with a triumphant smile and hovers while I take the first bite. “You’re creeping me out, Keith.”
He laughs but doesn’t move.
I take a bite and the flavors explode in my mouth. Savory and sweet and crunchy and soft. I can’t hold back my moan as I chew and swallow. “Oh my god. This is so good. Thank you. This is truly above and beyond.”
He grins, reaching out with his thumb to swipe an errant drop of syrup from the corner of my lips. He pops it into his mouth, sucking it off. I nearly choke on my bite.
“It’s the honey in the syrup that’s the key, Beth told me. That and my mama’s fried chicken recipe.”
I point my fork at his apron. “That hers?”
“No,” he says as he goes about making himself a plate. “My mom bought it for me when I bought the house a few years back. My sisters bought me the waffle iron and a lot of other random cooking things I have no idea what to do with. They thought it was funny, and until today, I’ve never worn the apron.”
“It suits you.”
“You’re mocking me again.”
I smirk cheekily but I’m actually not mocking him.
I like that he has his family.
I know he talks to his dad every Sunday afternoon. Only to his dad, and they talk for a while. I’ve heard him on the phone with his mom at random times, and this morning he was chatting and laughing with one of his sisters who gave him the recipe.
I don’t like being jealous but I am.
I want a family of my own. I want people I can rely on. Friends who have my back and consider me theirs. People who love me.
I want what he has.
I never realized how lonely I was until I met him. All my time was spent working and not thinking. Surviving the only way I knew how. Now that’s all changed and there isn’t necessarily beauty in that awareness.
We finish eating and he cleans up because he won’t let me help. I sit here useless like tits on a bull, nervous and fidgety. “I’m thinking tomorrow I might start apartment hunting.”
He pauses mid-counter swipe. “Why would you do that?” He returns to the counter, now wiping the same spot over and over again.
“Um. Because I can’t live here forever? My cast comes off in two weeks. By that point, I should be able to cook my own food and even cut it up. I won’t have to have you put a plastic bag over my arm to shower and I’ll even be able to put on a regular bra.”
“Maia.”
“I’m your houseguest, Keith. You said so yourself. I’m not living here forever. It could take me weeks to find a place.”
He throws the wipe into the trash with a bit more gusto than required and meets my eyes with a hard glint before he just as quickly looks back down. “I was joking when I said that to Beth. She knows exactly who you are.”
And who am I, I want to ask. But I don’t. I never had a problem speaking my mind, but after last night, something about that question feels impossible.
“Can you just wait?” he asks, his eyes finally coming back up to mine. It’s only now that I note the dark purple stains beneath them. “Wait until we finish the album. Until we get back from tour. You’ll have more time to find a decent place in a decent neighborhood and you’ll have had a few more weeks to save up.”
I know what he’s saying makes sense, but I don’t like how itchy I’m feeling around him now. Then again, there isn’t an ounce of unease coming from him. It’s all me feeling like this and that speaks volumes. Can I last another few weeks around this man without doing more damage to myself than I’ve already done after a couple of stolen kisses and an orgasm?
“Okay, fine. I’ll wait until we get back.”
He blows out a relieved breath, and I don’t understand it. You’d think he’d be jazzed to get rid of me. Are all men this complicated to understand? I somehow doubt it. It’s a Keith thing and it’s driving me up a cotton-picking wall.
“Good. That’s good. Go put on a terrible—” I throw him a menacing glare that only makes him grin harder. “—I meant terrific old movie that I can nap to. I’m gonna grab a quick shower and I’ll meet you in the media room.”
“Just for that, I’m going to put on a really good one you won’t be able to fall asleep while watching.”
“Oh yeah?” he calls as he jogs up the steps.
“Two words for you. Marilyn Monroe.” I hear him pause and then his head peeks down so he can catch my eye. “Who needs her when I’m living with my very own version. But we’ll see if she annoys me half as much as you do. The fact that she can’t talk back to me should be in her favor.” Another fucking wink, and then he’s running up again.