Chapter 20
chapter twenty
MARISOL
I swing my legs off the side of my bed when the sun shines in through my bedroom blinds.
I remember the first time I woke up in this room, back when I didn’t know whose room it was. That night at the club feels like a lifetime ago. So many things have changed since then. Except I still wonder why this room is so empty, this whole apartment really.
I peel myself off the mattress and slide my glasses on before I pad my way over to the door. I know I barely slept, but I don’t think I can spend another second horizontal. I need to move.
I open the door and walk out into the lounge to find Leo in the kitchen. Gray sweatpants hang low on his hips, and he’s wearing a loose NBA tee. He looks like any girl’s dream. God, this feels like Groundhog Day.
I wander over to the island, pulling out a chair. Leo turns around, jumping halfway in the air when he sees me. “Holy fuck—wait,” he says with a hand pressed to his chest. “Since when do you wear glasses?”
“Since always,” I say, amused by his little fright. “I usually wear contacts.”
He turns back to the stove, flipping what I think is a pancake in the frypan as he asks, “Why?”
My brows twitch in a frown. “Oh, uh…I don’t know. I suppose it was more convenient, especially in my line of work.”
I see him nodding, though he doesn’t turn to face me. He busies himself with his cooking. “Right. They suit you.”
I feel my cheeks flush for no good reason. He’s not exactly flattering me, and he won’t even look at me. I remember his fit last night in bed, and I wonder if he got much better sleep than I did.
“Did you sleep well?” I ask, not able to help myself.
“Mmm,” is all I get, paired with a terse nod. “You?”
“Not so much,” I say. I’m met with silence, other than the small sizzle of the frypan.
I drop my head into my hands. What the fuck happened between us?
Is it because I said I didn’t know what was going to happen when all of this is done and dusted?
Because I don’t, and I don’t think Leo has a clue either.
That’s why he asked. I want to ask him, but I don’t think he’s in the right mood for that conversation this morning. I don’t know that I am either.
“Ta da,” Leo says, finally turning to face me, holding a plate of three perfectly round pancakes topped with a tower of strawberries and blueberries, and what looks like an entire banana. It looks incredible.
He places it down on the countertop in front of me, along with a knife and fork. “I can’t eat all that,” I blurt out.
Now Leo can’t seem to look away. He looks like he wants to say something, but he stays quiet.
I’ve never told him about my relationship with food before, never let him in in that way.
In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone except for Sabrina.
It’s not exactly a fun topic to bring up in conversation.
Yet it feels like Leo knows exactly what is going on in my mind.
Like I have the words I have an eating disorder written in bold on my forehead.
I hate calling it that. I hate giving it a name because then I’m stuck with it—as if I haven’t been stuck with it for years now, with or without the name attached.
Leo’s never said anything about it, but he gently pushes me.
Ordering a ridiculous amount of fast food that he knows he can’t finish himself, cooking for me in the mornings when he knows I’ve never been a big breakfast person.
He’s holding my hand as I take baby steps that he lays out for me, letting me choose whether I want to take them or not.
“I’ll finish whatever you don’t have,” he says, and then he’s turning away from me, and I find myself wanting to say something—anything to get him to look at me again. I didn’t realize how much I needed his attention until I no longer had it.
I turn my attention to the stack of pancakes in front of me, and it truly is a masterpiece.
“This looks amazing, Leo,” I say. “I didn’t know you could cook like this.
” I half expected him to be the kind of guy who orders takeout more often than not, but I guess with a body like his, that was never going to be the case.
He hums in response. “Yeah, well, I’m not the dumb teenager you once knew.”
Clearly.
“You were never dumb, Leo. You did some dumb shit for sure, but you were always clever.” He doesn’t respond, and I can’t take this weird tension any longer. Patience be damned.
My stool squeaks along the ground as I push it back and storm around the island to meet Leo where he stands, casually making pancakes.
“Can you just tell me what I did wrong?” Leo frowns, dropping the ladle into the bowl and turning to face me.
“Because I can only take so much of my own mind analyzing my actions over the last twenty-four hours before I implode. Is it because I said I don’t know what will happen when this is over?
Because I thought you would appreciate honesty over—”
“Shhh.” Leo grabs my head in his hands, and my eyes close on instinct.
This is my favorite way he touches me.
“You did nothing wrong, covergirl. I’m sorry I made you think you did.”
I let out a breath as I open my eyes. I believe him, but he’s still got that same look in his eyes. “But something is wrong,” I say, closing my hand around his wrist. “Can I make it better?”
A small smile. “I wish you could.” Then he’s letting go of me, and I want to pick up his hands and press them back to my cheeks. “It’s just…being here, it…brings up a lot of memories,” he says, busying himself with the pancakes once more.
I lean back against the bench top, not letting those eyes of his out of my line of vision. “Bad memories?”
He’s quiet for a long time, and I take that as my answer. He moved back to Ruby Cove after years of being away, years of building his own life here, building a business. A business that he doesn’t want anything to do with anymore. Something happened, but I don’t know what.
“Did yesterday bring up bad memories, too?” I remember the way he snapped into an almost completely different personality when we got to my house yesterday, the way his entire demeanor was tense.
Leo bites the inside of his cheek while plating up a stack of pancakes for himself. He doesn’t meet my eyes when I place a hand over his, stopping him. “Leo.”
Now it’s his turn to close his eyes. “It’s nothing I want to talk about.”
“Okay,” I say, removing my hand from his skin. I can’t force him to talk, no matter how badly I want to know what is occupying his mind, even in sleep. Leo has never been the kind of person to do anything he doesn’t want to do, and he’s not going to start now.