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“I made you breakfast,” I say before he can ask. “I don’t have a tray, so it’s on this, but we can eat it in bed if you want.”
Sebastian is still wearing that T-shirt I lent him. His hair spills past his shoulders, loose and beautifully messy. Rosy warmth highlights his cheeks. I’ve never seen him look so indescribably stunning.
I set the pan carefully on the bed and climb onto the mattress, trying not to rock it too much and spill anything. The food sits at our feet, where we’re least likely to accidentally disturb it.
“You made all this?” Sebastian says.
“It wasn’t hard. There’s some pancakes and fruit. I hope you like butter and syrup on your pancakes. Oh, and coffee. I wasn’t sure how you take it. I put in a little creamer, but if you don’t like it I can make you a fresh cup.”
Sebastian is smiling and shaking his head. “I … no, it’s great. It’s all great. Thank you.”
He turns to me, ignoring the food so he can cup my face and kiss me. I nearly forget about breakfast, lost in the warmth of his lips, but we no longer need to rush. We no longer need to feel like this is our only chance. We can take all the time we want lying around in bed and eating breakfast and kissing.
Sebastian goes for the coffee first and hums from his first sip.
“This is perfect. Oh my God, you’re an angel.”
“An angel of basic breakfasts. I guess I’ll take it.”
“Hey,” Sebastian says, “that’s a very important type of angel. Currently, it’s my favorite type.”
“As long as I get to be your favorite.”
“You’d be even more my favorite if you adopted Babs,” he says.
I smile. I won’t deny the thought has crossed my mind since he suggested it, but there’s been so much else going on that I haven’t given it serious thought yet.
Sebastian smiles at me from around his cup, partially masking his expression with the mug. Is it because he’s still scared? Is he biting that smile back, holding some piece of himself in reserve so I can’t hurt him? It stings to realize that, but I can’t blame him after how all of this has gone.
That’s why I made the choice I did last night. And this morning.
I am going to fix this.
We feed each other bits of pancake and pieces of fruit in between sipping coffee. We’re cross-legged on my bed, dripping syrup and coffee on the sheets, chatting as we eat. It’s so easy, so natural, that I nearly forget that I did this all with some deeper purpose in mind. As the caffeine settles in my brain, that purpose tingles on the tip of my tongue. As nice as this is, I can’t let it end before I’ve said what I need to say.
Suddenly, my stomach knots up around the pancakes and fruit.
“What’s wrong?” Sebastian says as he munches on a strawberry.
I didn’t intend for him to pick up on my shift in mood, but he’s always been way too good at that. I never really stood a chance of hiding things from this man.
“Nothing,” I say. “I’m just thinking.”
“Oh yeah? What are you thinking so hard about that you’ve gotten all frowny and serious?”
“I’m not frowny,” I insist.
“You are, and now you’re trying to dodge my question by arguing about whether you’re frowny. It isn’t going to work.”
I sigh and surrender. I suppose it’s good to learn early on that I will never win an argument against him.
“I was just thinking that I…”
How do I even start this? I’ve neverdone this. Maybe he’s never done this. We’re both bumbling into new territory here.
Maybe that’s the secret, though. Maybe there isn’t one single right way to do this. Maybe we’ll do it however it works for us, and all the “right ways” be damned.
My resolve strengthened, I set aside my coffee and take his hand in mine.
