Page 62 of Defending You
Quietly, she slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the laundry room off the kitchen. She’d thrown her clothes into the wash the night before but had fallen asleep before moving them to the dryer.
She did that now and started it, then headed for the kitchen.
The shower was running in the other room, so she figured Asher would be out soon. She might as well get breakfast going while she waited for her clothes to dry.
The sun was still low on the horizon, painting the pond outside with golden hues. She started a pot of coffee, thankful when the rich aroma filled the air, then opened the fridge to survey their supplies: eggs, a pound of sausage, English muffins, a couple of firm apples that smelled exactly like fresh apples should, and a pint of blueberries in a cardboard container, the berries so big and fragrant that she guessed they’d come straight from a farm.
She plucked one, rinsed it, and popped it in her mouth. Sweet and tangy. She closed her eyes to savor the flavor.
By the time she was finished slicing the apples and rinsing the berries, the shower had turned off. When the coffee finished brewing, she poured a cup for herself and another for Asher, adding a generous splash of cream and three spoonsful of sugar to his, just as he’d taken it the morning before.
She was cracking eggs into a bowl when Asher walked in.
She looked up and smiled. “Good morning.”
He stopped dead, his gaze sweeping over her.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He swiveled and headed back to his room.
“I poured your coffee,” she called after him.
He returned, grabbed the cup, and reached for the fridge. He paused when he must’ve noticed she’d already doctored it. He took a sip, swallowed, and muttered a grudging “Thanks” before retreating again.
What was his problem? Here she was, cooking them breakfast. What had she done to deserve his rudeness?
The answer was a splash of cold water on her irritation.
Their conversation last night must have dredged up bitter memories. It was one thing to forgive. It was an entirely different thing to forget, or to ever trust after that. Asher didn’t want to be around her, and she couldn’t blame him.
As she fried the sausage into patties, she drifted back to that moment years ago. She’d been obsessed with Tucker Benson, barely registering Asher’s quiet presence. When Asher asked her to prom, Tucker and the other kids watched to see what she’d say. She hadn’t meant to laugh at Asher. It’d just bubbled out on a wave of nerves. She’d felt no malice toward Asher, just flustered, caught off guard.
She could still see the hurt in his eyes before he walked away. Regret had stabbed her then, a self-inflicted wound that had never fully healed.
She toasted the English muffins and whisked the eggs, then cooked them as thin omelets, which she folded onto the bread. When it was finished, she went down the hall and knocked on Asher’s door. “Breakfast is ready.”
“Coming.”
She returned to the kitchen to set all the food on the table, adding a glass of ice water for both of them.
Asher came in and stood beside his chair. He wore another rendition of what she was coming to think of as his uniform—black T, black jeans. He must’ve had a spare pair of contact lenses because the glasses were gone.
She’d liked them. They’d reminded her of the geeky kid she’d known in high school—except without the geek. Nothing about that buff body saidgeek.
“Thanks for breakfast.” He waited until she sat before he did, his good manners a stark contrast to the anger he’d shown earlier.
She helped herself to some fruit. “Sleep okay?”
“Like a criminal on the lam,” he said, a dry edge to his voice. “You?”
“It took some time to fall asleep, but once I did?—”
“Uncomfortable?”
Not even close. The bed had been soft and welcoming, and she’d been a littletoocomfortable in Asher’s things. Maybe she’d imagined it, but she’d gone to bed inhaling the scent of him, sandalwood and strength.
Though his tone was cordial, she still sensed an undercurrent of anger. “Have I done something to annoy you this morning?”
