“I’d like to go out for dinner with you.”
“Yeah?” He sighs in relief and grins.
“Yeah.” I smile back.
“Great. How about Saturday night?”
“It sounds perfect.”
“I’ll set it up, then.” He kisses me softly and reaches over to turn out the bedside light. “Night, Teagan.”
“Night, Aaron.”
Three seconds later he’s breathing deeply. I honestly have no clue how anyone can fall asleep that fast. I lift my head from his chest and check to make sure he’s not faking it. He’s not. He’s completely out.
I think I can count on one finger the number of times I’ve fallen asleep that quickly, and that was because I had to be sedated to have my wisdom teeth pulled and they were impacted. The black eye and the swelling were the worst. I refused to go to school for two weeks until the bruising went away.
I move his arm so I can get to my purse and take my medication. I don’t want a repeat of last night, when I accidentally fell asleep and then woke up in the wee hours of the morning. It took forever for my mind to settle again. I also take the opportunity to use the bathroom before I climb back into Aaron’s bed and snuggle into his warm, solid body.
The thing about sleeping in a bed that isn’t mine is that I wake up a lot. For the first couple of weeks after I moved to Pearl Lake, I would wake up at four in the morning. Sometimes I could go back to sleep for a couple of hours, but sometimes I couldn’t.
I wake up at four thirty and lie there for a while, listening to Aaron breathe, trying to match mine to his and shut my mind off. But I can’t.
So eventually I roll out of bed, grab his shirt from the floor, and slip it over my head, reveling in his scent as I pad out of the room, closing the door behind me so I don’t wake him up. He gets up early enough as it is; I don’t want to rob him of precious hours of sleep.
I make a stop in the bathroom and check my reflection in the mirror. There are terrible bags under my eyes because my sleep hasn’t been great the past few days. The call from Bradley weighs heavy on my mind. I don’t want him to feel alone, but every time I talk to him, it brings up all kinds of memories. Like the day our mom didn’t come home after she had surgery and I had to comfort him when he was asking where she was. I shut down those thoughts. They’re not helpful, and all they’re going to do is make me more anxious.
I grab my purse, take my morning medication so I’ll be able to focus today, and spend a few minutes covering my bags with concealer so I don’t look quite so unrested before I head for the kitchen.
The coffee maker is sitting on the counter, so I go in search of filters and grounds. I’ve never heard of the brand, so all I can do is cross my fingers and hope it’s good.
Once the coffee is brewing, I look through his cupboards. I don’t expect to find anything to bake with, but I’m pleasantly surprised when I discover a box of biscuit mix and a bag of flour. I have no idea what Aaron would need it for, but I’m grateful for it. He also has baking soda. It’s probably meant for the fridge to keep odors down, but I can make do.
He does happen to have bacon, eggs, and milk in the fridge. As well as butter. I have everything I need to make breakfast, which, based on the boxes of cereal more suited for young children, I’m guessing isn’t something he makes much time for.
I’m on my fourth cup of coffee and have just pulled a tray of biscuits out of the oven when an arm wraps around my waist. Aaron’s sleep-warm lips find my neck. “What’s all this? It smells amazing.”
“I made breakfast.”
“I see that. How long have you been awake?” He grabs a biscuit from the cookie sheet.
“Those are probably still too—”
He bites into it, and steam pours out, almost reminding me of a witch’s cauldron brewing. “Ow! Ow. Shit!” He chews quickly, head tipping from side to side, crumbs falling to the floor.
“Spit it out!” I point to the sink.
“No. Ow. Man, that’s hot.” He swallows the mouthful, or what managed to stay in. Half of it looks like it’s on the floor. He sets the rest of the biscuit on the counter and grabs the water from the fridge, chugging straight from the bottle. “I think the roof of my mouth is going to peel from that.”
“I don’t understand why you didn’t spit it out.”
“Because it’s delicious. What the heck is that? And how did you make it with Goldfish crackers and chips?” He takes another long swig of water.
“You had flour and baking soda and the rest of the things I needed. Although you’re almost out of butter now. Let me make you a plate.”
“Can I do anything to help?”
“If you have jam, you can put that on the table? And maybe the salt and pepper? You take your coffee with cream and sugar, right?”
“Yeah. How’d you know that?”
“Dillion had me pick one up for you a while back.”
“Oh. Right. Okay.” He grabs the jam from the fridge and sets the table for two.
I make him up a plate and set it in front of him, then fill the other plate with the leftover biscuits in case he wants more. Lastly I pour him a coffee and freshen up mine.
He shovels in mouthfuls of cheesy eggs between bites of buttered biscuits. He’s halfway through his plate when he looks up. “Aren’t you going to have anything?”
I wave a hand around in the air. “I’ve been nibbling all morning, testing everything.”
“You didn’t have one of these, though.” He points at the biscuit. “You gotta eat one. They’re amazing.”
I take one from the plate and cut it in half, then slather one side in strawberry jam. I break it apart, checking to see how flaky they are. I didn’t have a pastry blender, so I had to make do with forks, but they still turned out delicious.
“You sleep okay?” he asks between bites of food.
“I woke up a little early. You?”
“Like the dead.”
“You were out literally two seconds after you said good night.”
“Yeah. It’s a blessing and a curse. I can fall asleep whenever and wherever, and it pretty much takes a bulldozer to wake me up.” His gaze shifts away, and he looks out the window, toward the lake.
The sun is rising above the tree line, pink and yellow rays reflecting on the water.
“You have a beautiful view.” I prop my chin on my fist and watch as the sun slowly rises over the treetops in the distance. “Does it ever stop being magical?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve lived here most of my life, and I never stop thinking it’s stunning.”
“Where did you go to college again?”
“Indiana.”
“Right. And you studied structural engineering?”
“Yeah, but I prefer working with my hands than sitting behind a desk.”
He said that last time I brought it up, and I have to wonder if it’s his script when someone asks him these things. “So that’s why you didn’t finish your degree? Because it wasn’t what you wanted to do?”
“Something like that. Yeah.” He jams another forkful of eggs into his mouth and pushes away from the table, and his chair scrapes shrilly across the floor. “I should probably get ready and take you back to your car. It won’t take long to change out the tire, but I know you still need to head home and get changed for work.”