Page 72 of Knot So Sweet
I set the plate down on the narrow table by her bedroom door. Some antique piece with spindly legs from a yard sale. The wood's scarred but polished to a shine.
Coffee's soaking through my shirt now. Luckily it's lukewarm and not burning hot. The fabric clings to me, dark roast mixing with flour dust permanently embedded in everything I own.
"I can get you water," I call through the door. "Or crackers from the cabinet above the sink if you can keep them down."
More retching. Poor woman sounds like she's turning herself inside out.
"Christ," she chokes between breaths, voice ragged. "Don't sneak up on people like that!"
"Wasn't sneaking. I brought you breakfast."
She flushes the toilet then the water runs. The medicine cabinet opens and closes with a squeak. She's probably looking for aspirin. Or mouthwash. Both, knowing how she looked when she hit me.
I crouch down, pick up the bigger pieces of ceramic. Sharp edges everywhere. One piece has part of the bakery's logo on it, the mug I made special for the shop. Only six of them. Now I have five.
The door creaks, and she stumbles out, bracing herself against the frame. She has hair everywhere, sticking up at angles defying physics. Face white as paper, except for dark circles under her eyes making her look like she went ten rounds with a prizefighter.
She's wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt hitting her mid-thigh. Navy blue with some faded college logo I can't make out. The fabric's soft and worn like it's been washed a thousand times.
I force myself to look at her face. Nowhere else.
"Why?" She stares at the plate like I handed her the crown jewels, then down at the mess on the floor. Her bare feet are pale against the dark wood, toenails painted some soft pink color. "Oh God, your shirt. I'm so sorry, I didn't see..."
"It's fine." Can't stand listening to her apologize. I reach for another piece of ceramic. "Shit happens."
She drops to her knees beside me without warning. Reaches for the smaller shards scattered near the baseboard. "No, let me..."
"Don't." I catch her wrist before she cuts herself. Her skin's soft. Warm despite how pale she looks. Makes my brain short-circuit for a second. "You're barefoot. I got it."
Her pulse flutters under my thumb, faster than it should be. She sits back on her heels, wraps her arms around herself. The movement makes her shirt ride up slightly, exposing the curve of her thigh. Fabric stretched tight over her curves.
Focus, jackass.
I dump ceramic pieces in my palm, stand slowly. My knees crack from the crouch. Getting old. She follows my movement, swaying slightly on her feet cause the hangover's still chewing her up.
"You made choc-o-pan?" Her voice is small. Different. "For me?"
She has no idea the fucking effect she has on me. I would do anything for her. Pick her up from the bar every night of the week, if she would only stay.
"You said you liked them." I head toward her kitchen, ceramic pieces rattling in my palm. "Figured it might help."
She trails behind me, bare feet silent on hardwood. The kitchen's clean. Organized. She's made it homey with little touches. A bowl of fruit on the counter. Dish towels matching. A small herb garden on the windowsill catching morning light.
Vanilla and something floral. Strawberry maybe. Clean and feminine and nothing like the chaos in my head.
I toss the ceramic in her trash can, which sits in a pull-out drawer under the sink. Even her garbage is organized. Recycling separated properly. Compost bucket for food scraps.
Course she composts.
I wipe my hands on my jeans, coffee stain spreading across my flannel. The fabric's soaked through now, clinging to my body like a second skin just like I’d done when holding her after we knotted in the kitchen a few times.
"That's really sweet of you."
Sweet. Right. When did someone last call me sweet? Never, probably.
I lean against her counter, putting the narrow space between us. She mirrors my position on the opposite side, and we're close enough for me to see green flecks in her blue eyes. Close enough to smell her shampoo. Something fruity making my mouth water.
"Nothing special. Had time before opening."
