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“Of course.”
I step into the kitchen, and as if the clothes aren’t enough of a reminder of the size discrepancy between us, the way he towers over me reinforces it. He’s lean and fit, his shoulders are wide, and his body is taut with corded muscles that make him seem as wide as I am tall. He obviously works out a lot and takes good care of himself.
As I stare up into his golden-hazel eyes, my heart is beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. My stomach turns over on itself and I swallow hard, the air between us charged and crackling with the tension of expectation. He looks like he wants to kiss me. And if I’m being honest, despite everything that happened last night, I don’t know if I’d stop him. He clears his throat, runs a hand through his thick and tousled sandy brown hair, and looks away, the moment between us passing.
“Anyway,” he says. “Have a seat. I made breakfast.”
I sit at the table, and he sets a plate down in front of me. On the radio, Imagine Dragons’ hit ‘Natural’ begins to play, and I can’t help but notice Cash bopping along with the music. He puts a pair of pancakes down on my plate, then a pair on his. Next, he sets a small plate with bacon and sausage on it and puts a small dish of butter down as well.
“Blueberry pancakes, huh?” I ask.
“I wasn’t sure if you liked them, but I thought I’d take a chance,” he replies. “Same with the bacon and sausage. I didn’t know which one you might like, so I made them both.”
“Everything looks and smells amazing.”
“Coffee? Orange juice? Both?”
I purse my lips. “Both, please.”
“Good choice.”
He pours out mugs of coffee and glasses of orange juice for us both and sets them down on the table. Then, finally, Cash pulls a jar of peanut butter out of the cupboard, carries it over, and sets it down as he takes the seat across from me.
“Peanut butter?” I ask.
“I can’t eat pancakes without peanut butter,” he replies. “It’s amazing with syrup. I never eat pancakes or waffles without it.”
“Huh. I haven’t tried that before.”
“Then you should give it a shot.”
“I think I might. And thank you for this… feast,” I say. “I usually eat a Pop-Tart for breakfast. If I eat breakfast at all.”
“You should always eat breakfast. Like they say, it’s the most important meal of the day. It’s what gives you the fuel you need to get through it.”
“Noted.”
We share a laugh, then fix our plates and tuck into our meals. There’s something so domestic about this whole thing, the surrealness of the moment is a little overwhelming. I don’t know this man and he doesn’t know me, and yet here we are, sharing breakfast like an old married couple or something. It’s unreal and yet, at the same time, it’s kind of nice.
“Okay,” I say. “You’re right about the peanut butter.”
“Of course, I am,” he replies with a soft chuckle.
Fine lines at the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles, and up close, I can see the flecks of gray in his neatly trimmed beard. He’s older than me, obviously, but his boyish smile makes him appear younger. Softer. It smooths out that ruggedness in his face and somehow makes him even more handsome than I think he already is.
“So, what happened last night?” he asks. “What brought you to my door?”
It’s been the elephant in the room since I sat down at the table, and I’ve been wondering when he was going to ask me about it. Part of me doesn’t even want to get into it simply because it’s humiliating. I’m mortified that I was even in that position, to begin with. Not to mention that now, by the light of day, I find myself wondering if perhaps I overreacted to the situation.
“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine,” he says, as if reading my mind. “I’m just offering a friendly ear to bend.”
“To be honest, I don’t have many friends in the city, so I appreciate the offer.”
“Why’s that?”
“I just moved here a couple of months ago. I’m from Georgia.”
He nods and takes a sip of his coffee. “Oh? What brought you out here?”
