My cheek is resting on the sticky butcher block, inches away from the empty bowl of cookie dough. Turns out making cookies turned into eating half the batch raw before baking a single tray of them. Oops.
The kitchen is a war zone of bowls and utensils and greased baking sheets. I was surprised to find Nate had all the ingredients I needed — sugar and flour and baking powder and even vanilla extract. I’d pegged him for a takeout-menu connoisseur, but I suppose his cooking skills must’ve advanced some since the days he’d make me burned macaroni and cheese after school.
I lift my head, groaning at the crick in my neck. I catch sight of him all at once, appearing out of nowhere like a ghost in my peripherals.
He’s so still, you’d think he was a shadow if you looked too quickly. His face is silhouetted; the dim shafts of twilight leaking through the loft windows barely illuminate him. I’m thrown back in time to the night he showed up at my brownstone and scared me half to death in the dark. If someone had told me then that a few weeks later I’d be here, in Nate’s loft, wearing one of his t-shirts and considering the repercussions of kissing him, I would’ve smacked them upside the head.
“Hey,” I murmur sleepily, wiping cookie dough off my cheek with the back of one hand. My long brown bangs are dusty with flour.
“Hey,” he returns, stepping into the light. His eyes are careful as he looks at me.
“Must’ve passed out between batches. Sugar coma, and all.” I slide off my barstool and grimace as I take in the disaster site that was once his kitchen. “Sorry about the mess. I’ll clean it up.”
“We’ll get it tomorrow.” He steps closer, still watching me.
I swallow. “How was hunting? Catch anything?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. O’Pry is smart enough to go to ground, for the time being, but he can’t stay gone forever. I’ll keep looking.” He exhales sharply. “I’m going to find them before…”
“Before they find me?” I finish softly.
A dark look crosses his face. “That’s never going to happen. I told you I won’t let them touch you again. Don’t you believe me?”
I nod and try not to shiver when he closes a bit more of the distance between us, until there’s only a foot or so dividing his chest from mine.
“You’re a shit liar,” he murmurs, eyes on my mouth.
I nod again, mesmerized as he comes closer. I open my mouth to speak, even though I have no idea what I’m about to say, but nothing escapes because his hand is lifting from his side. There’s a tiny instant of time before his thumb hits my cheek — the moment before the lightning strike, when the whole damn sky seems to hold its breath in silence, waiting for impact.
“Cookie dough,” he explains as the pad of his thumb lands on the corner of my mouth, his touch bolting through me like electricity. I’m totally still as he brushes my skin, barely daring to breathe. When the crumbs are gone, his hand stays on my cheek and his eyes stay fixed on my mouth.
Holy frack.
“Are you going to kiss me?” I ask quietly.
He pauses. “Thinking about it.”
I gulp and hope it’s not too obvious. I’m thinking about it too. And about earlier, in his bed, and the fact that there’s no one to interrupt us this time.
“Are you weighing the pros and cons?” I ask, leaning into his touch.
“Only cons here, West.” He shakes his head. “You and me… we’re a story that won’t have a happy ending. A tragedy. Nothing good comes from a tragedy.”
“Well, maybe…” I grit my teeth so I don’t say something I’ll regret, and take a steadying breath. “Maybe I’d rather live in the wreckage with you for while than fake a fairy tale with someone else forever.”
Those dark eyes search mine, searing into me like fire. “What do you want from me, little girl? Because I’m almost certain I can’t give it to you.”
“For starters… stop calling me little girl. I’m not one. I haven’t been for a long time.”