“Baby?” Xander’s nickname for her warmed her in even the coldest places.
She turned away from the view outside to see him coming toward her, carrying a glass of water, and suddenly the comforting warmth turned into a bonfire of shame. When he found out she’d just watched Gran die… What if he already knew?
Her gaze locked on the clear liquid gently sloshing as he approached her. She pulled herself upright, continuing to stare at the glass. This was no time for denial and avoidance. It was time for honesty. Could she handle the look of condemnation on his face when he found out?
She’d just keep breathing, and that would keep her heart pumping. Basic system functioning would remain intact. Right? She forced herself to look him in the face.
“How’d you sleep?” Xander asked, holding the glass out to her. “No dreams? No nightmares?”
She heard him talking, but her brain wasn’t linking meaning to his words. It was busy memorizing each detail of him for when she lost him. His scars wound up out of his shirt, over his neck, up his cheek then alongside his temple and flared out over half his forehead. They were stunning in a way that wasn’t meant for words. She hoped Camille—his perfect, gorgeous girlfriend—loved his scars as much as she did.
Not knowing what to say, she nabbed the glass out of Xander’s hand and began drinking. The water tasted sweet and refreshing, and she greedily slurped it down, not realizing how thirsty she was until the first satisfying swallow.
“Slow down. It’s not a chugging contest. Don’t want you getting sick.”
She drained the last drop. “Wow. You have the best water.” She gasped for air, having forgotten to breathe while drinking.
“There’s plenty more where that came from. Come on, you need some food too.”
He offered her a hand. No way was she going to resist an opportunity to touch him. His skin was warm and reassuring. More than anything, she wanted to step into him, have him wrap his arms around her and absorb into him, until she was hidden in the center of him where no one and nothing could find her or hurt her ever again.
He tugged her up to standing and guided her to his kitchen table, where he let go of her to pull out a chair. “How are you feeling?”
“Yesterday was a bad day. Today will be better.”
“Every day will be better than yesterday. I promise you that. Now, eat.” He set a giant cinnamon roll in front of her. “It’s a day old, but still better than the best you can buy. Another of Row’s specialties.”
The roll smelled of cinnamon and sugar and cozy memories from her childhood. Memories of her and Gran, and good and happy times before their world revolved around pain. “Looks delicious.” She forked up a bite. Her taste buds had a mini party, but she couldn’t enjoy it. She ate another bite and another.
Xander got a gallon of milk out of the fridge and poured her a glass. He was so thoughtful. So kind. Especially after everything he’d had to go through because of her. To him she had to be a pain in the backside.
But she wanted—oh, how she wanted—this to be her life. Something as simple as sitting across the table from him and eating cinnamon rolls together was all she’d ever need.
“You’re looking at me funny.” The sides of his mouth tilted up into a smile, and she almost stopped breathing. Normally, his face was all hard angles, accentuated by the scars, but his smile softened everything and made his eyes sparkle like gold. She resisted the urge to crawl over the table to him and press her lips to his.
“Thank you for…I guess everything. Saving us. Putting up with me. Being there for me yesterday.” If these few moments with Xander were the only moments she’d have with him, she’d store them in a special place in her mind. For the rest of her life, she’d remember them as the times when she had felt the most alive.
“I was…” His voice trailed off, and he looked over her head a moment as if what he wanted to say was in a bubble cloud. “I guess the word would be compelled. I was compelled to find you. There’s no need to thank me. I would never leave you when you needed me. I can tell you’re better today.”
“I am. I just feel a bit delicate and…”
When she didn’t finish, he reached across the table and grasped her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. His touch was affectionate and full of reassurance, and just like yesterday, she could practically feel herself getting stronger.
“And what?” he asked softly.