Page 37 of From the Ashes
“Come on, get in,” I offer, smiling at him because, for some reason, the sight of him on my front door just made my day a thousand times better. Which is hard to do since Noah and I had a pancake party this morning while watching his favorite cartoon, and I have to say, nothing can beat that.
“Smells good," he says. "Mind if I drop my stuff here?"He nods toward the entry bench.
“No, go ahead,” I say, watching him lay his cut carefully. This one must hold a great deal of meaning to him. “Noah and I made pancakes this morning; there’s still some for you if you’re hungry.” I hope this won’t trigger him about his past and how his mom used to make them for him when he was a child. Maybe it will bring back a good memory. His jaw flexes, then he looks behind me at the kitchen counter.
“Yeah, I’d like that,” he rasps, and I think he’s smiling. Not from his lips but from his eyes. There’s a slight crease, and it makes my heart thump way more than it should.
We both get around the island, and I smile at how tall he is in my space. I didn’t realize it when we were in his massive flat, but here, in my small and quirky, colorful house, he’s a giant. But still, he sits casually on one of the stools, one foot still touching the ground, looking at me like a scientist who has found his next subject of study.
I love when he does that.
There’s something special about knowing you’ve got his full attention. I fix him a plate, adding strawberries, and without catching myself, I realize I made a smiley face like I do for Noah with blueberries for the eyes and chocolate syrup for the mouth.
“Oh no, sorry. I… I always do that for Noah and me, let me fix that?—”
“It’s alright.” He shakes his head, taking the plate I’m trying to take back. “I like that you do stuff like this. It’s cute,” he says, and the corner of his eyes crease again and make my heart quicken.
“Is coffee okay?” I ask, turning my back as I grab another cup for him; mine is already on the counter.
“Coffee’s great.” He nods, and even though his tone is even and slightly cold, I know he doesn’t mean it; that’s just the wayhe talks. Perhaps not everybody can see past it, but I do. I’m learning to.
“How was your week?” he asks, and I bite my lip as I pour coffee in his mug. “Thank you, sweetness. Next time, you’ll just sit and I’ll do it for you now that I know where the mugs are,” he states, the smoke of coffee filling the air between us.
My cheeks turn pink at the mention of him wanting to serve me. I’ve never been treated…right, and I’m not saying that I’m going to fall head over heels for the first guy who treats me decently, but Carter really has a way of saying things and making me feel…cherished. And even if I never got to experience that before, I know this isn’t something I’ll ever take for granted.
“Work and one day at home with Noah, he had a stomach ache, nothing serious, but he wasn’t feeling well. Luckily, I had someone to replace me at work so I could come home and take care of him.”
“Is he okay now?” he asks with a frown.
“Good as new.” I chuckle. “He told me the soup I gave him yesterday made him stronger than the Hulk.” I laugh, shaking my head with a bright smile. “He’s obsessed with superheroes. Look—” I nod toward the round diner table behind him, cluttered with a dozen figurines of his favorite characters.
“Is the Hulk his favorite?” he asks.
“Yes. He says he’s the scariest and the nicest at the same time.” I smile, but it falters when I notice Carter straighten in his seat, his hand flexing twice in a row.
Did I say something wrong?
CARTER
Scariest and nicest.
Perhaps hecouldlike me.
Not that I want him to call me dad or anything like that, but not hating me would be great. And if he manages to see past a green scary creature, then perhaps I stand a chance.
“He’ll like you,” she murmurs as if she could hear my mind. “If that’s what you're thinking.” She smiles shyly. “I never introduced anyone to him before, but…um, maybe in a few months if things go well, you guys could meet.” She shrugs, but her fingers tighten around the mug. Her breathing quickens, and her eyes drop to the floor.She’s cautious. I respect that.
“I’d like that very much,” I tell her, trying my best to sound warm. “When you’re ready,” I say, ‘cause I’m not the one in charge in this department.
“Yep,” she nods, the corner of her lip rising slightly, “what about you? How was your week?”
“Busy, work, and events, but mostly filling my schedule to not think about you constantly,” I admit honestly, and watch her pupils dilate, cheeks flush, and her lips part. “Did I say something wrong?” I ask, wishing I could slap myself for talking too fast without realizing that once again, I can’t say everything that goes through my mind.Just ask yourself if what you’re about to say fits the environment you’re in without disturbing it, says Dr. Parks.
“No,” she chuckles, biting her lips, “I’m… I’m always stunned when you tell me things like that. Like you don’t have a filter and it’s… I’m just a bit startled, sorry.” She runs her hand through her hair.
“Don’t be, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’m the one who’s sorry.”
“No, it’s…” she chuckles, “it’s fine, it’s more than fine, I’m… I’m glad you thought about me that much.” She blushes, and the light shade of pink lights up her face like the sun rising on an early morning. “I thought about you a lot, too.”
