I work around the kitchen, preparing breakfast. I thought for sure he was supposed to be at the gym this morning, but he hasn’t said anything. He doesn’t even seem rushed, which is odd for him when he has to train. It makes him antsy and irritable, but today he’s as calm as can be.
Looking up, I catch him watching me. Sticking my tongue out, I shake my knife at him. He laughs easily, happily, and picks up a magazine and leafs through it.
I cut the ham and beat the eggs, all the while keeping an eye on him. He seems different today. The lines on his face seem less carved and there’s a softness to his frame that is unusual for him straight out of bed when he’s still mentally going through his day.
It’s a good look on him, one that tugs at my heartstrings. I imagine this is what he would be like if he was in college and just getting up in the morning for class and not the laborer-turned-fighter. Or is it the other way around? Did he take up fighting as a coping mechanism for his father’s death or did he learn to fight because of his dad?
My knife clamors against the counter.
“You okay?” he asks as I scurry to pick it up
“Yeah. Sorry. I dazed off.”
His brows furrow, but he doesn’t call me out on it. Instead, he looks towards the door as Nate walks in with Ryder on his shoulders.
“Look who’s here, Ry!” Nate looks at me and grins.
“Camilla!” He holds his arms out to me, his little blue eyes sparkling.
“Hey, Ryder,” I say, wiping my hands on a towel. Lifting him off his father’s shoulders, he wraps his arms around my neck. “How are you, buddy?”
“Hungry.”
“I’m making breakfast. Want to help?”
“Yes. I missed you,” he says, pulling his face away from mine. “You’re so pretty.”
“Easy there, Ry,” Dominic says. “That’s my girl.”
“My girl,” he says, burying his face in my neck again.
“Looks like you have some competition,” I wink, carrying the boy to the kitchen counter. I sit him next to the cutting board, hand him a strip of ham, and go back to preparing breakfast.
Nate walks behind me, lowering his voice so only I can hear. “I had a deposit pending in my account today, Priss. Seriously. Thank you.”
“Shhh,” I say, keeping my head down. “You’re welcome.”
“You’re welcome for what?” Dom asks, looking at us over the top of the magazine.
“For not beating his door down last night,” I say. “Did you hear him snoring?”
A small smile crosses Dominic’s face. “No. I slept. Strangely.”
“Well, he snores. Prepare yourself.” I look at Ryder. “How do you sleep with him sounding like he’s sucking in the house like that?”
Ryder giggles, holding the half-eaten ham in the air. “He is loud!”
“You little snitch,” Nate laughs, picking up his son. “Let’s get you in the bath while we wait on breakfast.”
They trample off down the hallway, Ryder’s laughter making the apartment seem so much brighter. I watch them until they’re out of sight. When I look back at Dominic, he’s watching me.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, setting the magazine down.
“I don’t know. Just what a little piece of sunshine that boy is.” I pick up the knife again. “I love how happy he is to see me. It makes my day.”
“Everyone is happy to see you.”
My cheeks flush. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah. I might not answer, but you can ask.”
“Jerk,” I laugh. “Were you supposed to go to the gym this morning?”
“Why?”
“Just curious.”
He kicks back in his seat, the sunlight highlighting the ridges in his stomach and the lines on his arms as he grips the back of his seat. “I was gonna go. Yeah. But I changed my mind.”
Looking down, I pour the beaten eggs in a skillet and arrange the ham in another. I don’t want him to see the smile drawn deeply across my lips.
“Does that surprise you?” he asks.
“Kind of. You usually go on Saturdays.”
“Maybe I needed a break.”
“Maybe I’m glad you took one.”
The air between us changes. The levity from Nate and Ryder are gone, as is the easiness of the morning before their arrival. Now we’re sitting a few feet from one another, albeit on opposite ends of the smallish kitchen, waiting out the other’s next move.
The story he told me has been on my mind since the moment he delved into the tragic events of that night. Even after he fell asleep, which was odd in and of itself, it was me that laid awake. I rolled away from him and cried. Then I moved towards him and held him tight, hoping some of my energy would pass into him as he slept.
I couldn’t tell him that it was him, not Nate, that snored. I’ve barely seen Dominic sleep, much less that deeply. But last night, he did. And I held him, prayed for him, wondered how much that devastating night impacted the man that has turned from an easy date to something that might be so special it scares me.
“You know, sometimes when I’m sleepy, I say shit I don’t mean.” His voice cuts through the air like a sharpened knife.
“Okay.” Forcing a swallow, I keep my back to him. Running a spatula along the bottom of the egg pan, I watch them puff up into golden pillows. “You didn’t talk in your sleep, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
Flipping off the burners, I turn to face him. His features are pressed together as he surveys my reaction.
“Then what are you saying, Dom?”
“Last night, I told you a story.”
“I remember.”
“And afterwards, you said in a roundabout way that you meant it when you said you wanted me.”
“Yes,” I say, pulling in a lungful of air. “I did.”
He drops his arms to his sides and lets them hang towards the floor. “How did you mean that?”
There’s a hope infused in his voice that turns me to mush. It’s not that much different than listening to Huxley ask Lincoln if he’s really going to play catch or Ryder asking me if he can really have another popsicle. It both warms and breaks my heart.
Coming around the counter, I stand in front of him. He looks up at me all delicious with his tousled bed hair and morning stubble scruffing his face.
“When I said I wanted you, I meant . . . I meant I don’t want to stop seeing you,” I admit. “I sort of wait every day for you to move on, and if I’m honest with myself, I don’t want you to.”
Not a muscle moves, but his eyes sparkle. “You mean that?”
“Of course I do.”
“Even after knowing . . .”
I take his hand and press it against my cheek. “Dom, what happened to you was horrible, but if you think I’m going to look at you differently because of what you had to do to survive, to save your mother, your brother, you’re crazy. If anything, I think more of you.”
He stands, towering over me. Twisting his hand, he laces our fingers together. “I don’t want to taint your life with mine.”
“How could you think that?”
He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Your family would cut you off if they knew you were fucking the help.”
I jerk my hand away. “For one, you are not ‘the help.’ And for two, fuck you for even saying that.”
“It’s true.”