“As hungry as you were last night?” She’s looking at the bowl, not me.
“Is that an invitation or a request for a repeat?” I move in behind her, pressing my sort-of hard-on against the small of her back. “Because I’m definitely interested in more of last night, and more of this morning.”
“This morning?”
“Well, maybe not the fainting part, or you trying to dice off your fingertip, but this—” I gesture to the kitchen and kiss her shoulder. “What we’re doing here, I like this. I’ve never done it before.”
“Had someone faint on you?” She stirs the icing, but her breath hitches and a flush creeps up her neck.
“Woken up to someone I like making me breakfast.”
“No one’s ever made you breakfast?”
“Nope. Except for Skye, but that doesn’t count since she’s my stepmom, and everything she makes comes from a package.”
Sunny turns around in my arms, her expression pensive. “What about when you were a kid? Didn’t anyone make you breakfast before school and stuff?”
“Mostly I ate cereal in the morning, since it was just me and my dad and he’s a sucky cook.” I stare at the cupboards, taking in the details. Memories of my mom are vague. Also, most of them aren’t nice, and it’s not something I talk about much. Up until now I’ve avoided it with Sunny.
Sunny runs a finger up my arm and over my shoulder until she reaches my jaw. She curls it around my chin and angles my head so I’m looking at her, not into space. “What happened to your mom?”
I twirl a lock of her hair between my fingers, considering how much I want to share. Fanning out the end, I brush it back and forth across my lips before I speak. “She had an inoperable brain tumor. She died when I was three.”
Sunny strokes my cheek. Her affection doesn’t feel like it’s made of pity. “I’m so sorry.”
I shrug. “I don’t remember her much. She got headaches a lot. They thought they were migraines. Mostly I remember her being in the hospital. Then it was me and my dad for the most part. Even before she was gone it was my dad taking care of things.”
“That must’ve been so hard.”
“It was hardest on my dad. I was too young to get what was going on. I wasn’t an easy kid. I had lots of energy. School was hard for me. I needed a lot of attention, and my dad worked long hours.”
I leave out the hardest part to talk about: that none of Dad’s attempted relationships worked out because of me. Single dads are only cool in movies. It was clear early on that school wasn’t going to be my thing. I didn’t pick things up as fast as I should have, so I lagged behind the other kids. One chick told my dad she didn’t sign up for a special-needs kid. She dropped the “R” bomb. I never saw her again after that.
There weren’t any other girlfriends until my junior year of high school—none that I ever met until my dad started dating Skye, Vi’s mom, anyway. She was nice and fun to be around.
“Sidney raised you on his own?”
“Yeah, for the most part. I spent a lot of time at Randy’s when I was growing up. His mom cooked and stuff, but it was different.” Not that his situation was much easier. His dad played professional hockey and was gone a lot. His parents divorced when he was eleven.
Sunny’s eyes go the kind of liquid I equate with sadness.
“Anyways, it’s nice to have someone want to do things for me.”