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“I’ve never made garlic avocado toast before. Want to show me?” I ask.
It’s so nice to have a friend. I’m also terrified of being left alone with Zeke after I almost snuck a peek under his towel—not that I haven’t seen his dick before. Without thinking, I rub my belly, thoughts returning to the baby growing inside.
“Sure.” Tabby brightens up and opens the cupboard, where the cutting boards are all lined up.
Zeke comes out of his room, just as attractive in his loose jeans and tight t-shirt as he was in the towel. He’s like a completely different person, having readjusted to Tabby being here. The goofy grin and playful sparkle in his eye seem to have completely wiped the last fifteen minutes from his mind. He slides onto the stool, and Tabby turns to him.
“Guess what?” she says.
“Chicken butt,” Zeke answers, and Tabby groans.
“You’re such a child.” She leans forward and slaps his arm.
Zeke glances at me, his gaze flickering to my stomach for a moment before all the emotion is locked back up. I wonder if this open-book thing is something everyone can see, or just me, because Tabby doesn’t seem to sense the shift at all.
“Okay, what?” he asks.
“I got a job,” she says, and Zeke tilts into confusion.
“This is news?” he asks. “You’ve had the same job since you were fourteen, dumbass.”
“Shut up, you.” Tabby points a wooden spoon at him, and he flinches.
The ease between them and the bond they share is bright and vibrant. I can sense this strange undercurrent to their lighthearted bickering. Humour is a thread that binds these two—a shield—and I find myself curious all over again.
Their parents are messed up, and I still feel guilty because I’ve never asked him about his childhood. Because I never want to talk about mine, I assumed that he wouldn’t want to talk about his.
“No, I got a job in Halifax,” she continues. “I talked to the guy today. He’s kind of a pompous ass, but the job will be interesting.”
Zeke’s features freeze, his eyes glazing over, and he suddenly looks blank. “Oh yeah? Where at?”
The tone shifts—the way he tightens his arms across his chest and the suddenly aloof way he slumps in his chair. This isn’t news he wants.
I frown at his change in stature, and he glances at me again, a flash of something behind his eyes. Something he wants to hide.
“A soup kitchen.” Tabby shakes with excitement, and I’m thrust between the two of them, volleying back and forth as I notice the twitch in Zeke’s eyebrow and the expectant look on her face.
“That’s great,” I say, needing to interject before the low-key tension I feel gets stronger.
Sensing when arguments are about to spring up is a superpower of mine, and sometimes I’m convinced that my parents didn’t murder each other simply because I could sense these things early. Like a tornado watch, the slightest change in air pressure sets off my alarms.
“That’s where you’re going to college, right?” I continue, and Tabby nods. “Well, they better be ready for gourmet soups when you get there.”
She turns back to the avocados with a laugh. Zeke glares at his sister’s back and then rearranges his expression like a Transformer.
“That’s awesome, Tab. It totally suits you. Throw one of those over here.” He knocks on the counter. Tabby rolls an avocado to him and sets a knife in front of him.
Zeke again flicks his attention to me in a moment of sheepish guilt because I caught him. And I get it now.
He doesn’t want her to go.
But Zeke hides as much from me as I do from him. I finally get why I feel this sense of deep connection to him. Zeke rearranges his insides to match what’s expected of him, like me.
We’re performers. We are bending to the will of our families and sacrificing our happiness in the process.
I sit beside him at the island while he cuts avocados, and Tabby buzzes around the kitchen with her unaware bubbliness. I reach over to touch his knee with shaking fingers, and he tenses. I put all my understanding and comfort into the gentle squeeze, and he visibly fights to keep his features neutral.
He puts down the knife and reaches under the counter to put his hand over mine without looking at me. I splay my fingers out, and he threads his through. The corner of his mouth twitches, but he still won’t look at me.
Tabby was right. Why exactly am I fighting this?
The perfect man has fallen into my lap.
I need to do something to keep him there.
