Page 108 of When It's Us
“What is this? Between us?” I ask when his denim blue eyes meet mine. “Because I know what it feels like, but…”
Hutch is quiet, watching me, but he doesn’t bolt, and I consider that a good sign. Softly, he says with a small shake of his head, “I don’t know.”
I nod when I think he’s finished, and when those eggs are done, I won’t be able to eat a bite. My stomach is in knots.
“I know I like waking up to you.” He flicks a glance over me from the top of my head to my bare thighs underneath his flannel. “I know I like you in my bed and in my clothes.”
I wait. “But?”
He meets my eyes again but stays quiet.
I drop his gaze, my throat tight and nod. “I swear I’m not trying to push you or…whatever. I need to know if I’m the only one feeling this.”
I dare to glance up at him. I’m not mad. Just trying to understand.
He rubs a hand over his jaw, his voice quiet before leaning his hands on the counter as if grounding himself. Something twists his mouth, something not quite a smile. “You’re not.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding at the coffee mug in my hand. Though things are even more confusing than they were before. I asked for honesty.
“I don’t know how to do…more. I’m out of my element here,” he says, not unkindly, and my heart squeezes.
I nod again, looking up at him with a small smile. “Thanks,” I say. “For being honest.”
“I meant what I said about liking you here,” he says, stepping between my spread knees. The move isn’t sexual. It’s intimate, yes, but I can see the vulnerability written all over his face.
He runs his hands down my arms and rests them on mine, where I’m gripping my mug in both hands. “I don’t know how this turns out, and I know you’re not staying, but while you’re here, if you’re still with me…I’d like that—even if only for right now. Or for however long you’re willing.”
I can tell this is a big step for him, and it means a lot. It’s honest and real, and that’s all I can ask of him.
“I’d like that.” I nod.
“Yeah?” he asks, his eyes still vulnerable, but with something else…hope, maybe.
“Yeah.” I nod, wrapping my arms around his neck and giving him a smile. “Now are you gonna feed me, or what?”
Hutch
Thebellabovethedoor to Nat’s place jingles, and I’m immediately hit with the sweet, overpowering scent of sugar and butter, mixed with the signature scent of bacon and coffee that Timber’s Treats is known for.
I make my way toward the counter, where Nat is elbow-deep in the glass pastry case, pulling an order for a customer, setting pastry after pastry into a teal box on the counter at her elbow. Her hair falls from her ponytail when she looks up and nods at me.
It’s Nat and two employees I don’t recognize at the counter with her, and it’s busy at this time of day, the tail end of the lunch rush. From here, I can see Nat’s other employee, Thalia, glazing some kind of scone or something in the back.
I don’t come in often, I’m more of a salty snack kind of guy—sunflower seeds, potato chips, and popcorn being my go-tos, but when I do, the kitchen in the back is always a mix of chaos and comfort, kind of like Mom’s kitchen growing up.
Nat folds the top on the box and hands it to her customer with a smile. I wait until she wipes her hands on her apron and comes over to the other end of the counter.
“Those new?” I ask, eyeing a batch of square something or others covered in powdered sugar cooling on a rack on the counter.I didn’t get a chance to eat breakfast this morning, and even if I’m not a big sweets guy, I can always go for something homemade.
“Yeah, hoping to add them to the menu next week.” Nat smirks at me and without missing a beat, stacks a few trays on a tall rack, as she says, “But you’re not Hank, so you don’t get any.”
I raise an eyebrow and groan, leaning on the counter. “Come on, Nat. What’s a guy gotta do around here to get a decent…whatever those are?”
“They’re strawberry pop-overs. And all you gotta do to get one is be my favorite brother,” she shoots back, crossing her arms.
“Okay, cool. So all I gotta do is be a moody bitch in khaki,” I mutter. “I’ll get right on that.”
Nat laughs, her eyes dancing. “Don’t forget to practice that thousand-yard stare and add in some dead-on-the-inside rancher energy and boom—nailed it.”
