Page 26 of Heartless As Puck

I also really didn’t want to have to call my parents and ask them for help if I ended up out of a job. They’d already done so much for me, and I was sure they’d find a way to help, but I’d rather not put that pressure on them.

Besides, I’d spent my childhood coddled and protected by everyone around me, and while I loved that they cared for me so much, I wanted to do this on my own. I huffed and glared at the bag a little more. I supposed I didn’t have to make up my mind right now. I had all day.

I drew in a deep breath to fortify myself and made my way into the main house, turning the door handle slowly, giving myself time to prepare to see Austin. After avoiding him last night, I wasn’t sure how he’d be feeling toward me this morning.

As usual, it was slightly cooler than my studio, and I was glad I’d put on a pair of cozy socks and a sweater. I looked around for any sign that Austin was already up. There were noises coming from the kitchen, and the faint scent of liniment lingered in the air.

I’d only walked a few steps into the kitchen when I stopped, startled. Austin stood at the stovetop with a pot of oatmeal on one element and a frying pan of scrambled eggs on the other. He glanced up and met my eyes. A beat of silence passed between us. The longer it grew, the more fraught with tension it became.

“Why are you cooking?” I asked, putting my hand on my hips. “Isn’t that my job?”

To my utter shock, his cheeks turned pink. The blush was charming and softened me toward him in ways I’d prefer to ignore.

“I thought it might be nice to cook for you for once.” He used a spatula to keep the egg from sticking to the pan.

I didn’t know what to say. That was actually pretty sweet.

“It’s no problem for me to do it.” I looked at the stovetop. “At least let me make your smoothie.”

He demurred. “This is almost done, and the smoothie will only take a couple of minutes. I want to take care of breakfast for once.”

I dithered, torn about what to do. Cooking for him was part of our arrangement. To have him suggest that he do the same for me went against all my expectations and I didn’t know how to respond.

He gestured toward the breakfast bar. “Sit. I’ll be with you soon.”

“I can make my own,” I protested weakly, at a loss as to what to do with this new, solicitous version of Austin.

I’d never seen him behave subserviently before. I didn’t know he had it in him. While he was polite in most situations, he didn’t tend to do things for others. Well, not other than Hazel anyway. He doted on his little sister.

“Sit down.” His tone was firm. “You like granola with yogurt, right?”

“Yes.” I was surprised he had noticed.

He nodded but didn’t speak. The silence settled between us, heavy enough to feel like a weight on my chest, and not at all comfortable like it usually was. Uncertain of what else to do, I went to the breakfast bar and sat. Immediately, my leg began to bounce.

I watched Austin move around the kitchen. It was obvious he didn’t know exactly where everything was because he had to check more than one cupboard to find what he was looking for.

He dished the eggs onto a plate and poured the oatmeal into a bowl. As steam billowed from both, he went to the fridge and grabbed the ingredients for his smoothie. He measured them more carefully than I usually did, but then, I’d done it so often that I had a good feel for the quantities, whereas he still needed to check the recipe.

The blender went on, and then he added a healthy serving of granola—more than I’d usually give myself—into another bowl and scooped a couple of large spoonfuls of Greek yogurt on top. He squinted, his mouth pursing, and then, as if recalling something important, added a handful of blueberries.

“Will this do?” he asked, uncharacteristically hesitant.

“That’s perfect.” It didn’t matter that I would put the yogurt in first and the granola on top. It would taste the same anyway, and the point was that he was trying.

He grabbed a spoon and brought the meal over to me before returning to the kitchen counter to retrieve his own breakfast. He pulled up a stool alongside mine and sat, adjusting his position several times as he tried to get comfortable.

“I found a textbook out here yesterday,” he said, apropos of nothing. He gestured along the counter to the end. My speech disorders textbook was propped against the wall. “I assume it’s yours. Are you… doing a course?”

I snuck a peek at him out of the corner of my eye. “I’m studying to become a speech therapist.”

He nodded and drained half of his green smoothie. “How far along are you?”

“I only have a semester to go after this one.” I mixed my granola and yogurt together and took a mouthful.

“So you’ve been working toward it for a while?”

I caught my lip between my teeth. It was strange to be the subject of his curiosity after having coexisted with him for so long without sharing. He’d never seemed particularly interested before, and I had been happy to keep to myself.