Page 50 of Howl for Me
The kitchen isn’t on fire this time. Which, for me, feels like a small miracle. I’m up early, like real early, because my brain didn’t let me sleep for more than a few hours. It kept replaying everything last night. The kiss. The fight. The way Johnny looked at me like I was the only person who’s ever mattered.
So now I’m standing barefoot in his kitchen, flipping pancakes like I actually know what I’m doing, the scent of cinnamon and butter filling the room instead of smoke and panic. I hum softly to myself, the calm of it wrapping around me like a blanket. I have to pretend like my whole life isn’t on a downward spiral. Telling Johnny we couldn’t be together was the hardest thing I've ever done. But I can’t risk it. I can’t risk losing him. Hector didn’t say we couldn’t be together, but I'm sure he's against it. To even ask him would be too risky. No, we have to keep it friends.
And then I hear footsteps. Johnny rounds the corner, shirtless, hair a mess, and the second he sees the kitchen, he stops in his tracks, eyebrows raising.
“Well,” he says, smirking. “I see your aim with the pepper spray isn’t the only thing you’ve improved.”
I laugh, shaking my head as I scoop another pancake onto a plate. “Smartass.”
He grins and walks over, peering at the spread,. “This looks edible. I’m actually impressed.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Though I do have a tip for you.”
He groans, mock dramatic, and leans against the counter. “Alright, hit me with it.
I gesture toward the living room, toward the coffee table where my tiny car sits in all its miniature glory.
“Your painting skills,” I say with a teasing smile.
He puts a hand to his chest in mock offense. “You don’t like it?”
I burst out laughing, tossing a napkin at him. “No! I love it. Like stupid love it. If it were life-sized, I’d drive it every damn day.”
He smiles at me then, soft, wide, and all heart, and something in my chest goes warm and slow. We are back to our usual banter, but now we both know what lingers beneath it. We finish breakfast slowly, like maybe we’re trying to hold on to the calm a little longer. Like neither one of us wants to admit how hard this is going to be.
Soon, we’re back in the car, headed toward the shoot. Johnny drives one-handed, window cracked, music low. I catch him glancing at me sometimes. He doesn’t say anything, but I know what he’s thinking. Back in Johnny’s dressing room, I flip through the day’s script.. My eyebrows raise and I look at him, trying to hide the grin curling up my face.
“You’re shooting with Frankie “Fountain” Love today.”
He stops dead in his tracks. Literally freezes mid-shirt removal like someone just shot him.
“No,” he says. “Please, God, no.”
I lose it. “I’m kidding, oh my god. But now I know for sure you didn’t rehearse.”
He groans and drops his head back, dragging a hand down his face. “That’s low.”
I smirk. “If you had rehearsed, you’d know you’re shooting with Nicole. She’s new, I think.”
He exhales, relieved, but still a little frazzled. “I hate this. Knowing what we have, I don’t want to do this shoot.”
I lift a finger. “Nope. Don’t start that.”
“Cass..”
I shake my head, and he stops. His mouth opens like he’s still got more, but he swallows it. Then he says, “Just so you know… it’s you. Every time. It’s been you every single time.”
And I hate how much that melts me. I hate how it shows on my face. Because we’re not supposed to be doing this. Before I can say anything, Naomi walks in with a garment bag slung over one shoulder.
“Damn. One date and I get a delivery service now?”
Naomi rolls her eyes and drops the bag on the floor with zero grace. “Please. That was a favor. And I just wanted to check on her, not you.”
Johnny scrambles to pick up the clothes, brushing out invisible wrinkles like a wounded puppy. “That was cruel.”
Naomi turns to me, voice soft. “You good?”
I nod. “I’m fine. Don’t even feel it, really.”
