Page 13 of Cold Front
NIALL
Practice had drained me, but the second I stepped into the apartment, my senses sharpened. The faint sound of music drifted from the kitchen—something soft, acoustic.Eli.Of course.
He stood by the counter, scrolling through his phone with one hand while flipping a pancake with the other. His damp hair curled slightly at the ends, and a faded band T-shirt clung to his slim frame. He moved like he belonged here, like he’d lived in this apartment for years instead of a week.
I toed off my shoes, heading straight for my room. No point in pretending I could sneak past him. The apartment was too small for that. And Eli? He noticed everything.
“Hey, how was practice?” he asked, looking up with that disarming smile. Bright, genuine—like he actually wanted to know.
“Fine,” I muttered, making a beeline for the fridge.
“You guys skate the whole time, or do drills too?” His tone was light, easy, like conversation with me wasn’t a constant uphill battle.
“Drills.” I grabbed a water bottle and twisted off the cap, trying not to look at the plate beside him—golden pancakes stacked three high, syrup pooling at the edges. My stomach betrayed me, tightening in hunger.
Eli must have caught the way my gaze lingered because he slid the plate in front of me with a wink. “Made extra. Knock yourself out.”
I scowled, arms crossing on instinct. “Wasn’t for me.”
“Good thing I didn’t ask.” He nudged the fork closer, still grinning.
I grumbled, “Thanks,” and picked up the fork. One bite in, my fate was sealed. My mouth watered as the soft, fluffy pancake practically melted on my tongue.
Guilt crept in. When Eli first moved in, I’d made a point of telling him we handled our own groceries. Yet here I was, eating his food without hesitation.
I cleared my throat. “You’re not eating?”
Eli shrugged, swiping an apple from the fruit bowl. “I’ll whip some up later.”
Something about the way he said it made me pause. My gaze drifted to the counter—the mixing bowl in the sink, the bag of flour beside it. Not a box of instant mix in sight. These weren’t the just-add-water kind. Eli had made them from scratch. No wonder they were so good.
I frowned. “Wait. These wereyours. Why’d you give me all of them?”
Eli waved off my protest, already grabbing a granola bar and a bottle of water. “You looked like you needed ‘em more.”
“That’s not?—”
“Tell you what.” He smirked, stepping around me toward the door. “Make it up to me by cleaning the kitchen.”
Before I could argue, he crossed the room, scooping up his backpack from the couch and unplugging his phone from the speaker dock on the counter. The music cut off mid-song, leaving behind a silence that felt weirdly noticeable.
He slung the bag over one shoulder, stuffing the granola bar and water into a side pocket, then shot me one last wink. “Later, Captain.”
Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
I stared after him, still chewing.
Shit.
* * *
The lecture hall buzzed with low conversation as students filed in, claiming seats in the wide rows. I rubbed the back of my neck, scanning the room. I hated this class. Hated that I was here again, repeating a course I’d screwed up last year because I couldn’t get my shit together.
At least Professor Williams hadn’t called me out yet for missing last week. A mandatory team meeting had kept me out of the first lecture. Not that I’d minded the excuse.
I spotted an empty seat near the middle and headed for it, dropping into the chair before anyone else could claim it. A minute to myself before class started—that was all I wanted. No small talk. No forced interactions. Just quiet.
Then I saw him.
