Page 203 of When We Fall: Part Two
I hugged myself tightly and looked around for Cotton. He was lounging at the window seat, looking content in his new surroundings.
“LeeLee?” Anson approached me and extended his hand. “Come. Let’s get something to eat, OK?”
I said nothing and let him place his warm hand on the small of my back and guide me to his kitchen island.
I took the seat he offered and watched as he moved around to make a plate for me.
He slid it to me before making himself one. Once he was satisfied, he doled out some fresh fruit into two bowls and gave me one, keeping one for himself.
He moved easily and sat next to me.
“I have real maple syrup,” he said, nodding to the glass bottle. “Or at least I think it is. That’s what the guy at the grocery store said. And fresh fruit. Strawberries and blueberries.”
“Thank you,” I finally said, picking up my fork.
It had been a long time since I’d sat and eaten an actual meal. Mostly, I’d just been nibbling on a sandwich here and there or picking at whatever was given to me.
I took a tentative bite of the fluffy pancakes and chewed. They were amazing.
“How are they? I haven’t cooked in a long time. Mostly do takeout,” he said, glancing at me. “But I thought this might be nice.”
I put my fork down and exhaled.
“You don’t have to do this,” I finally said.
“Do what?” He crinkled his brows at me.
I gestured to everything. “This. I-I don’t need you to go out of your way for me.”
“LeeLee, stop,” he murmured, reaching out and squeezing my hand. “I want to do this for you. I was hungry too. Please eat.”
“Don’t you want to talk about why I’m here?”
He closed his eyes and let out a breath. “Eat. Please. We can talk once you’re done.”
I did as requested, managing to make it through the pancakes, some scrambled eggs, and a few bits of fruit before I couldn’t possibly eat more.
I drank the orange juice before wiping my lips. He’d gone back and had seconds already.
“Come on. Let’s talk,” he said when he was done.
We both got up and moved to the couch. I made sure there was a bit of distance between us.
He didn’t seem to like that, because he scooted closer.
“Talk to me, songbird,” he murmured.
“I-I messed up last night,” I said.
He nodded. “Are you OK today?”
“No.” I shook my head, trying not to cry. All I’d done for weeks was cry. I didn’t want to do it anymore.
“What can I do?” There was a note of desperation in his voice.
“Nothing. I-I need to just… be. I-I won’t be here long?—”
“Why?” he asked, frowning at me. “I want you to be here.”
