Page 45 of Starrily
She came awake with a cough and a gasp, as if she’d been struggling for air. “Mila.” She looked around, unfocused, until her eyes stopped on him.
“Are you okay?” Stupid words to say when she clearly wasn’t—but he didn’t know how else to react. She was trembling, and a few beads of sweat dripped down her face. She was scared. Not of him—but whatever dreams had been chasing her.
“Hey. You’re awake now. It’s gonna be all right.” And then he was hugging her, and she grasped his shirt and melted into his embrace. She felt so small and vulnerable, and her heart, close to his, beat as fast as a bird’s.
“It’s going to be okay,” Simon kept repeating as he gently rocked her. “You’re safe now.” He had no idea who or what she should be protected from, but as he held her in his arms, he did realize one thing.
He wanted to be the one doing it.
Chapter 11
Callie woke up by Theia’s gentle patting of her hand. She stared at the ceiling, shaking off the cobwebs of her dreams.
Nightmares, rather. But instead of feeling shaken by it, she felt … warm. Safe. Because of Simon. The bed sheet next to her was cold now, but she remembered him sitting there, embracing her, soaking up her fears.
A sound of clinging dishes came from the other room. Emboldened by a strange wave of joy—Simon was here, and she’d be fine—she hopped off the bed, drawn to the door by a warm, buttery smell wafting in. Was there something sizzling, too?
She pried the door open. Simon was busy in the kitchen as he turned from the stove to the counter and back, checking on something frying in the pan, waving around with a spatula, sorting out plates, pouring juice—all while humming a pop melody. The earliest rays of the morning sun streamed into the kitchen, making the scene look much too cozy—and him as if he belonged there.
For about five seconds, Callie smiled like a fool.
And then the memory of her nightmare came back, only the hand wasn’t Mila’s, but Simon’s.
No. This can’t happen.She’d let him into her office for work. She’d let him into her apartment for one night because the circumstances made that the most sensible course of action. But he was going no further than that.
“What are you doing?” Her tone shifted from a cheerful to a lower—shakier—in the middle of the sentence.
His humming stopped, and he looked up. “Morning, Phoenix.” He flashed her a smile. “I figured as a thanks for letting me stay over, I’d make breakfast. Now, before you say, ‘How are you thanking me, if you’re using my kitchen and my eggs?’ well, the stove can’t be helped, but these are actually from the store …”—he raised a carton of eggs—“because it turns out youhaveno eggs in your fridge. This also means your neighbor might have seen me in the NASA shirt, but I’m sure it’s gonna be—”
Panic rose, enveloping her heart.He’s not staying here, he’s not making me breakfast, this has to stop right now—before I start caring too much.“You have to leave.”
He lowered the spatula. “I’m sorry?”
“Leave. Now. Your clothes are dry—change, and go.”
Simon put down the spatula and removed a pan with fried eggs from the stove. “Are you okay? We don’t have to talk about last night if you don’t—”
“Go! I have to … I have to get ready for work.”
He looked away, the movements feeling wooden. “All right.” He made it around the counter and into the bathroom without another word.
Callie kept standing there until he came back, carrying his jacket. He paused, and their eyes met. It made it so much worse that his were soft and pleading, instead of angry.
You can still take it back. Tell him you want him to make breakfast for you. Tell him you want to watch movies with him again.
Callie clenched her fists until her nails dug into her skin, the pain helping her rebel against her heart.I can’t do it. I’ll only lose him.Any agony she felt now would be so much smaller than the agony she’d feel at losing someone she loved. Again.
Still, she wet her lips, figuring what she could say—but nothing came until Simon blinked away, murmured a short “Goodbye,” and left the apartment. He didn’t slam the door, and it got stuck a few inches ajar—almost as if begging her to go after him.
Instead, she sat by the counter, teased by the mouthwatering smell from the breakfast he’d assembled. A bun of bread with sesame seeds, eggs, sunny side up—slightly burned at the edges, as if he somehow knew she loved to eat those crispy bits the most—and even bacon.
Callie stared into the far wall of her apartment, gritting her teeth in her best attempt to regain control—and then she finally gave in and cried.
***
Simon stood on the street in front of Calliope’s apartment complex, lost and confused.
Did she hate eggs for breakfast?
