Page 105 of Don't Say You're Sorry

He leans into me, his head on my shoulder. “Only about the people Ireallylike,” he jokes, echoing something I said to him the night I met him.

I rub his hair.

Nate chooses that moment to walk into the coffee shop, his eyes narrowing on me. He walks over and yanks my chair away from Xavi, flicking my ear.

“Don’t kiss my boyfriend.”

Boyfriend. I’ve never heard Nate call him that before.

Xavi grins at him as Nate picks him up, sits on his chair, and pulls him down to his lap. The corner of my mouth lifts, and I look the other way, letting them have their moment.

“You all right?” Nate asks me, pushing Xavi’s hair back from his face.

I narrow my eyes, suspicious. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

Nate shrugs. “You’re acting weird.”

“Weird?”

“Different.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I laugh as if he’s the one being weird and pick up Adam’s muffin. “I gotta go. See you at home.”

Nate and Xavi share a look that I pretend not to notice as I leave.

When I get home, Adam’s in the kitchen, hissing as he snatches his hand back from the stove. He sticks his finger into his mouth and glances at me helplessly over his shoulder. A laugh bubbles out of me as I go to him, setting his muffin on the side. Taking his hand, I examine the several burns there before lowering my head, sucking on the tip of his finger. His eyes fill with heat as he pulls it free, stealing a kiss from my lips.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he says, taking the paper bag from the coffee shop and peeking inside. He smiles when he sees what’s in it and hides it in the pantry, saving it for later.

I tip my head at the stove. “What are you up to?”

“Cooking spaghetti,” he mumbles.

“Where did all the burns come from? Didyoucook the sauce?” I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice.

“No, Nate made the sauce. I’m literally just trying to cook spaghetti.” He glares at said spaghetti as if it personally wronged him. “How do I get it in the pan?”

“Not with your fingers.”

He huffs.

“How are you still a hopeless cook at twenty-one?”

“I’ve lived with a chef my whole life. Sue me.”

Speaking of, Axel walks into the kitchen wearing running shorts and a loose T-shirt, awkwardly looking between the two of us. He side-eyes the pan on the stove. “Can I help?”

Adam sneers at him. He’s not happy about Axel staying here despite him telling him to move out. They haven’t talked since Adam punched him. Axel’s tried, but Adam’s giving him the silent treatment.

In answer to his question, Adam picks up a few pieces of uncooked spaghetti, snaps them in half, and tosses them into the pan. Boiling water splashes his forearm. He hisses again and clutches it to his chest. I resist a face-palm.

Axel sighs. “I’m going for a run.”

“Great,” Adam says, his back to him as he washes his hands at the sink. “How many miles can you do? London’s about three thousand away.”

Axel looks at me, probably thinking the same thing I am. He’s talking to him. It’s a start.

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