Page 108 of Broken

“You gonna just stand there? Or can I come in?”

“Are you real?” she cocks her head.

“Last I checked.” Shaking my head, I put a hand on her shoulder and spin her around, stepping into the apartment.

“How did you get in the building?”

I smirk at her confusion. “A woman downstairs let me in.”

“Bet she did,” she mumbles. “Probably stunned by all the hotness. Didn’t even stop to think you could be an axe murderer.”

Calli heads back to the couch and lifts a blanket, dropping and covering herself with a groan. The blinds are drawn over the window and the TV is on in the corner, but the sound is off.

“All the hotness?”

“You know you’re hot. Why are you here?” She peers over the back of the sofa.

“Because I knew you wouldn’t be looking after yourself.”

“I can take care myself,” she half-heartedly argues. “It’s a hangover. I’ve had them before.”

The evidence of her looking after herself makes her scrunch up her nose. There are three glasses on the table, as well as a mug, which I guess is coffee. There are junk food wrappers too. With a shake of my head, I take out the groceries.

“We need a serious talk about nutrition.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” she grumbles.

“Yeah well, tell me that after you’ve eaten what I’m about to cook.”

“You’re making me food?”

Instead of answering, I search through the cupboards for what I need. Calli is quiet for a while, then climbs off the couch, wraps the blanket around her shoulders and comes to stand by the counter as I chop up an avocado and set a frying pan on the stove. She eyes the eggs, and sausage, her nose wrinkling at the kale.

“That is too much green stuff.”

“You have the diet of a toddler. You’re going to end up with high cholesterol and be at risk of heart disease if you don’t start eating better.”

Calli pouts but takes a seat as I carry on making her a hangover cure I swear by. Once the sausage is frying and the eggs are poaching, I take out two bottles of water and a green smoothie.

“More green stuff?” she pulls a face.

“Drink up. Trust me, it helps.” I pour it out and hand over a glass.

Calli sniffs it. “What’s in it?”

“Things that will make you feel better. Drink it all. Have you taken painkillers?”

“Are you going to tell me they’re bad for me too?” she sasses.

“Taking them with junk food and coffee won’t help.”

“You’re so bossy.”

This time I don’t answer, hiding my smile as she takes a tentative sip. When she doesn’t pull a face, I take it as a win andset out two plates. It doesn’t take long for the food to cook. I plate up and head to the small dining table by the window.

Calli follows, still wrapped in the blanket. We take a seat opposite one another. If I had to put a name on it, I’d say her attitude is begrudging as she eats. It morphs to surprise, then enjoyment. She doesn’t want to say anything, that is written all over her face too.

All I care about is she is eating and is less pale.

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