Chapter Twenty-Six
Sleepless in Pumpkinridge
Bellamy
Ask me how I know this? Oh, that’s because I didn’t sleep one single wink. Not a one! I tossed, kicked the blanket off, turned, pulled the blanket back on. But all I could think about was him.
His soft eyes, the dimple that is haunting me, and his never ebbing sunshine. The feel of his hand on my back. Don’t even get me started on the rampant thoughts from when he pulled me against him.
For someone who’s never had a single person touch her, never once gave a single guy a flicker of attention, I’m sure consumed with this particular one.
I swear I heard every single noise he made and I’m not even on the same floor. No, I’m upstairs behind a closed door, down the narrow hallway. But we all know fate loves to be petty. So I wouldn’t put it past her to turn the volume up on everything that has to do with the unwanted house guest.
First it was the couch squeaking when he rolled over.
Then it was his low laugh, as if he can’t turn off his sunny disposition even in his dreams. What could he possibly be laughing at?
At one point I swore he was murmuring words that no matter how hard I strained, I couldn’t hear.
I legit had to fight the urge to sneak downstairs.
By 5:42 I was ready to smother him with a pillow.
When 5:55 rolled around I was debating heavily how bad it would be if I hexed his vocal chords.
I even looked it up on my phone. It was that serious.
By the time the sun's morning rays blasted my corneas I was seconds away from begging the moon and stars to take me away.
Have you ever thrown the blankets back, laid in the bed like a starfish, staring at the ceiling, wondering what choice you made that led to that moment? That’s me today. I even throw the undignified fit by kicking my feet and growling. Stupid wolf shifter and his damn dimple with freckles.
I fling myself off the bed and stomp down the hallway into my bathroom. I splash water on my face, brush my hair, and even brush my teeth before heading downstairs. He doesn’t need to know that I didn’t sleep or what I look like first thing in the morning.
My living room is empty. I’d half-expected to find him still sleeping. Instead I found the blanket folded up and the pillow rearranged. Did he not sleep last night either? Surely he did since I heard his and Nyx’s snoring at one point.
Searching through my house, I hear him before I see him.
“You know instead of sitting there judging me, you could always help Nyx.”
Nyx snorts and doesn’t say a word back. But Hops croaks loudly, clearly worried I’m going to be mad.
Rounding the corner, I find Miles elbow deep in a cabinet and all kinds of things strewn across my counters.
Is…is he trying to make me breakfast?
He is frantically moving through my kitchen, opening and closing cabinets. I’m not even sure what he’s looking for.
I clear my throat and he squeals, dropping the bag of flour onto the ground as the contents shoot straight up and all over him. My hand flies up, covering my mouth as I do everything in my power not to bust out laughing.
His long, dark eyelashes are tipped in white as he blinks through the cloud of powder.
He blinks again, coughing as a puff of flour escapes his mouth.
“Welp,” he rasps, his hand waving in front of his face.
“This isn’t going according to plan at all.
Someone said that you usually sleep in. I’d planned to bring you breakfast in bed.
But, I couldn’t find pancake mix. So I thought I would… ”
“Miles.”
“Make you pancakes from scratch, even though I’ve never done that before. So I had to search ‘Make From Scratch Pancakes’. But, I don’t even know what the difference between baking soda and baking powder is. Which lead…”
“Miles,” I say as I clear my throat, trying to stop the rambling.
“...to me searching for that answer. But, you didn’t have the baking powder. Why don’t you have that, by the way? So, then I had to search for a substitution to that…”
“Miles!”
“...which was…what?” He eyelids flutter rapidly, staring at me with circles around his eyes and his face still covered in flour.
I snort, unable to hold it back this time. The sound bursts out of me so violently, I have to brace myself against the countertop. “You look like a ghost in a baking competition. You know those ones that are home chefs trying to compete in a professional competition?"
Miles grins, and somehow that stupid dimple is more prominent covered in flour. “But, I look like a handsome pink-haired ghost right? Speaking of, can you make the pink hair permanent, or no?”
Nyx groans from his perch on the counter, his voice as dry as a desert. “More like a tragic sibling to Betty Crocker.”
Rolling my eyes, I step into the kitchen, though I’m careful not to slip on the flour bomb that exploded around Miles. “Why in the moon and stars are you attempting to make me breakfast?”
“Because you deserve it,” he says simply, as if it’s the most logical answer. “You saved the town yesterday, faced your fears, and so, you deserve to be cherished. The least I could do is make you breakfast and attempt to make your coffee.”
I scoff. “I don’t deserve anything. Not after the reason that I had to ‘save’ the town was because of me to begin with.”
“The why isn’t the important part, it’s the standing back up, and taking accountability that is. We all make mistakes Bellamy. Some larger than others, but the only thing in life that ever matters is what we do after those mistakes.”
I roll my eyes and squeeze around him to my overly-expensive top-of-the-line espresso machine. It’s the only new thing in my entire house, mainly because your girl loves her coffee and it’s a must in life.
I’ve just put the cup under the spout when a hand wraps around my arm, gently tugging me to turn around. Begrudgingly I do, because he’s too sweet and it's too early. Let’s chalk it up to lack of sleep and not the emotions running through me.
His eyes are rounded as he stares into mine, pleading with me to hear him, even if he isn’t talking. They flicker between mine, and I wonder what he’s seeing. Is he seeing my guarded walls or is he seeing behind them to the vulnerable little girl?
“You are far more deserving of the blessings than you’ll ever give yourself credit for. But that’s okay, because even if it takes me the rest of our lives to prove it to you, then so be it. I’ll show up each day until you see what I see when I look at you.”
I roll my eyes again, it’s all too much. Far too early. I attempt to turn back around until he says, “Did you just roll your eyes at me?” His tone is deeper than normal and without his playful lilt to it.
Twisting back to face him, I’m not sure what to expect, until I see his mischievous smirk.
I also don’t see the hand coming in or the flour coating it until he’s swiping it across my face.
White flour dust floats in the air between us as he tilts his head, eyes glinting, and his smile becomes even broader now.
My eyes narrow on that damn dimple as my eyes flick back to his. He’s challenging me, I can see it.
But unlike him, I have magic on my side. So he doesn’t see me snap my fingers nor see the bag of flour float up from the ground. Nor when it is hovering over his head. Not until it turns upside down, raining the flour down on top of him, in a weird version of snow.
“Oh, so you want to play unfair?” Miles goads as he nods over my shoulder.
Whirling around, I find Lady, eggs in hand, as she throws one right at me. Traitor! Women are supposed to stick together. The eggs thunk against my chest, cracking open as the slimy insides slide down my pajama top before falling to the ground.
“So it’s a war you seek? Do I have anyone on my side? Nyx?” I look over to find him shaking his head, clearly unenthused by the childish display. “Fine!” I shout. “I’ll do it myself!”
I clap my hands together, purple sparks flickering down them as my magic spreads.
Dishes are flying out of the cabinets, the chairs are lifting.
But instead of panicking or worrying about the magic I’m using, Miles is laughing as he spins plates around.
He adds items into the air, seeing how much he can add to it before I can’t manage it.
I’m too busy keeping everything floating, enjoying the hum of the magic freely flowing through me without fear that I don’t even see him move.
“See, it’s not so bad to have fun and laugh, now is it?” he whispers into my ear from behind me. His body heat warms my back as cold chills run down my spine.
I gasp, whipping my head around. Everything falls now that I’m not focusing on the magic, but instead zeroing in on his proximity, the deep woodsy smell of him, and my stomach fluttering.
My walls are screaming at me to push him back, make a joke out of it, to hex him six ways from Sunday. But my body? My body is leaning into the warmth like a cat stretching in the sun.
I snap myself out of it, placing a hand on his chest. His very firm, warm chest. Right over the heart that feels as if it’s running a marathon even though he’s standing still.
Not sure what’s coming over me, I lean up on my tip toes, our noses only an inch apart and whisper, “You’re cleaning this up,” before I drift past him, grab my espresso, and march back out of the kitchen.
His low chuckles reach me right before he says, “Worth it.”
I stomp down the hallway to my atrium at the back of the house.
Muttering to myself about traitorous raccoons, unhelpful familiars, and a wolf with far too much sunshine.
But my hand trembles as I wipe the egg yolk from my shirt, and all I can focus on is the words he whispered and just how much I yearned to feel his lips against mine.