“I’m not nice when I don’t get sleep.”
“I’m hungry.” Moving over to her, I take her arms and pull her up into a sitting position.
“I will punch you in your face. No lie, I will fuck you up,” she warns, trying to edge back down to her pillow. I can’t help but laugh at the grump, and pull her up again, holding her against me.
“Let’s go make something to eat. Seeing how I missed dinner because you almost killed me.”
“Really?” She leans her head on my shoulder, and I feel her hot breaths slapping against my neck. My gosh…I really like holding you. Her body wiggles even closer to mine, making me think she somewhat likes me holding her, too. “You’re playing the ‘I almost died’ card? At like four in the morning?”
“It’s three, and yes, I am.”
Her hands rub across her face, and she slaps her cheeks back and forth, trying to wake herself up. “Fine. But you’re cooking.”
I yank open the fridge and see what I have to work with. “How do you like your eggs?” I ask, pulling out the carton.
“Sunny-side up. At eight in the morning.” She mopes around the kitchen in her slippers and damn cute puppy dog pajamas, and I snicker at her tired attitude. Her hair is all frizzy and wild, and her make-up is smeared across her face, but I don’t mention it. It’s kind of cute, and it works perfectly with her early morning personality.
“Pancakes it is,” I say, pulling out all of the ingredients. Jules hops on the barstool across from me, and watches as I start mixing everything together. “Chocolate chips or blueberries?”
“Blueberries.” Her fingers open the blueberries and she pops a few into her mouth. Her nose wiggles at the tartness of the fruit and she shakes her head. “Chocolate chips.”
As I start to prepare our early-early breakfast, she lays her head down on the kitchen island, watching all my moves. Even though she doesn’t say a word, her body language speaks for her. She’s comfortable and relaxed around me—as if we have always awakened at three in the morning for breakfast dates. Her lips hold a soft smile upon them, showing me that she’s pleased I woke her from her dreams. For some odd reason, I feel as if I’m still dreaming.
“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”
Her question should be random, but I’m surprised she hasn’t asked before. I turn on the skillet, dreading the idea of turning my body toward her and answering her. The words are there, my reasons are clear, but I don’t want to talk about it. Our eyes finally meet and we stare for a moment, neither of us blinking, neither of us wanting to blink. Until I turn away and go back to making pancakes.
She doesn’t push the subject, but I can tell she’s still wondering. “You cook a lot?”
“I used to.” My reply is curt, and I feel bad about it, but I can’t go into more detail. Tossing a few pancakes onto a plate, I slide it over to her and pull out the syrup from the cabinet.
“Thank you,” she yawns, covering her lips with her hand. “There are a lot of things about you that you don’t talk about, aren’t there?”
“There are a lot of things about me that I can’t talk about. Otherwise, I’ll turn into you and someone will need to pin me against a wall, feeding me a pep talk.” Turning off the stove, I grab my plate of pancakes and join her at the island.
“I give pretty decent pep talks.”
“I’m sure you do, I just don’t receive pep talks very well.”
“Oh my gosh.” Her eyes close as she takes the first bite of the pancakes and I swear it looks like she just had a moment of personal pleasure. “Three a.m. pancakes shouldn’t taste this good. No pancakes should taste this good.” My insides twist in a knot knowing that she enjoys them, creating some kind of weird satisfaction within me.
“You smell like smoke again,” she blurts out, eating her food.
“I’m trying to quit.”