Page 103 of Break Me

This matters. Not just the words, but the moment.

I warm a plate in the oven, something I’ve never bothered with before, then smile at myself for it before carefully cracking the eggs. When the toast pops up, I butter it slowly before cutting it on the diagonal, the way she likes, even though she never asked me to.

Breakfast in bed.

I’m almost done when I hear her.

Bare feet on the floor. The soft shuffle of sleep still clinging to her movements. She appears in the doorway a second later, hair loose, eyes heavy, and wrapped in one of my shirts.

“You’re up early,” she says, a small smile tugging at her mouth.

I glance over my shoulder, caught mid-motion, with the spatula in my hand. The sight of her standing there does something to my chest.

“Morning,” I say.

“What’s all this?”

“Breakfast,” I reply. “Go sit. I’m almost done.”

She hesitates like she might argue, then yawns and leans against the doorframe instead, watching me the way she did last night. Quiet. Curious. Unaware that everything is different now.

I turn back to the stove, heart thudding just a little faster.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” she says after a moment, softer now.

“I know,” I say, flipping the eggs anyway. “I wanted to.”

I slide the eggs onto the warmed plate, arrange the toast, and add the fruit.

Raven watches from where she stands, arms folded loosely, one hand absently brushing her stomach before she realizes what she’s doing and lets it fall away.

The sight nearly undoes me.

“Sit,” I say gently, nodding toward the chair. “Please.”

She smiles at that and finally pushes off the doorframe, padding toward the table. I carry the plate over and set it down in front of her.

For a second, neither of us says anything.

This is it.

Excitement hums just under the surface as I pull out the chair across from her, sit, and meet her eyes.

“Raven,” I start, my voice steady even as my heart pounds.

She looks at the food, then back at me.

“You’re being weird,” she says, but there’s no edge to it.

“Am I?” I ask.

“A little.” She nudges the fork, then pauses. “Not a bad weird.”

A quiet exhale leaves me as my nerves mix with excitement. This matters. I can’t afford to say the wrong thing and screw it up.

“Raven,” I start again, slower this time. Her attention sharpens immediately, eyes lifting to mine. “I woke up early. You were still asleep.”

“I’m shocked,” she says dryly.