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"Yeah, my head was bugging me."
She gestures back towards the couch with a questioning look. "You wanna...?"
Following her lead, I return to the couch, expecting her to claim a separate space as before. But instead, she snuggles against me, resting her head on my shoulder.
"This okay?" she asks. I lift my arm, wrapping it around her, pulling her close so her head nestles against my chest. My heart is tapping out a little staccato beat in my chest and I hope she doesn’t hear it. I’m supposed to be this chill dude, not someone that gets all sorts of butterflies from snuggling.
"Erm, yeah," I manage to say, a smile playing on my lips as I pull the blanket over us. Beneath it, I let my fingers gently dance across her bare shoulder, feeling her skin pebble under my touch. With a contented sigh, I close my eyes, embracing her the way I've always dreamed.
Chapter seven
Tilly
Standing at the stove, I flip a piece of French toast in the pan while Tommy continues to sleep on the couch. My eyes keep drifting to his peaceful form. The intimacy of cuddling up to him last night felt unlike anything I've experienced before. There's something about Tommy's scent—a mix of salt, musk, and a hint of pine, likely from his deodorant—that has permeated my apartment, making me wish I could bottle it up to keep when he leaves. Because he will leave, and just thinking about it twists my stomach into knots. We've only had two days together, and it has felt like a fleeting dream.
If it were truly a fantasy, I imagine it would have ended differently last night—with those soft caresses on my leg leading somewhere more daring.
The oven dings, pulling me from my reverie. I blush at the direction of my thoughts and turn to retrieve the bacon. Once everything is plated, I grab a mug of coffee and my breakfast and head over to the couch, leaving his plate on the counter. I can't help but tease him a little, despite the warmth of our time together.
Setting down my things, I plop next to him, jostling him awake. "Oh hey, you're up," I say, feigning surprise.
He sits up, wincing in discomfort. My playful mood vanishes, and I rush to the bathroom to grab some painkillers. Returning to his side, I offer them to him.
"Oh, sick, thanks," he says, swallowing them dry. He eyes my coffee. "Can I have some of that?"
"Nope," I reply, taking a big bite of my breakfast. It's becoming a thing with us. I eat and relentlessly tease him. Why do I keep it up? Well, because it's the only time it feels safe to really flirt with him. I like seeing him riled up only to give him exactly what he wants.
"Hey, not fair!"
"Tough, you said I can't cook, so this is your punishment."
"Tilly..." He gives me his best puppy dog eyes.
"Oh lord. It’s a joke, don’t get your face stuck like that. Gimme a second," I relent, fetching his breakfast and coffee from the kitchen. When I return, he's eagerly awaiting his share.
He moans with approval at the first bite. "Tilly, this is amazing! What'd you put in it? Besides some kind of drug, obviously."
I laugh. "Nutmeg and cloves. And relax, it's just an internet recipe I found."
"Shut up, it's heavenly and you know it," he says, devouring another bite. “Where did you learn to cook?”
"Sam's place. She wanted to be this 'perfect mom' so when she found out she was pregnant, we started making stuff together. Just don't let her cook for you," I say. While I took to crafting meals like a seal to water, Sam didn't. She's set off the fire alarm in her house by boiling water. Twice.
He shrugs at my warning. "She wouldn't cook for me anyway. But, hey no big deal. I could live on gallo pinto and chifrijo from that stand by the shack. No cooking necessary," he says.
"Didn't they give you food poisoning?" I ask.
He dismisses the accusation with a wiggle of his finger. "There's no evidence it was from that place."
I’ve never seen someone puke as much as he did and for so long. Two whole days the guy was upchucking every sip of water and bite of crackers he could manage. But there was more to that time, how I kept checking on him between surf lessons, buying him Gatorade, bringing him wet towels for his gross puke-flecked face. He must be thinking about that too. His laughter fades, and he looks at me with a tender smile. "You know, you've taken care of me a lot over the years. Still are, aren't you?"
I'm speechless, the word 'always' on the tip of my tongue, but it feels too heavy, too revealing. So instead, I meet his gaze, letting the moment linger between us.
He chuckles and looks away, breaking the intensity in an instant. "I'm not complaining. Especially with food like this." Suddenly, the mesmerizing effect of his gaze and words fades, and I find myself awkwardly focusing on my food again.
"Erm, yeah. It's good," I manage to say, my brain still trying to catch up and form coherent thoughts.
After we finish eating, I clear our plates while he lingers over his coffee. "So, what are your plans for today?" he asks casually.
