16. Daryl
Chapter 16
Daryl
B eth walked through the door, surprising me. I straightened up, wiping my hands on a rag.
"You're back," I said, eyeing the bags she carried.
"Of course I'm back," she replied with a hint of a smile. "I left you a note."
She moved past me and headed straight to the kitchen. I followed, curiosity gnawing at me as I watched her unload groceries.
"What're you doing?" My voice sounded gruffer than intended.
"Making breakfast," she said cheerfully, placing eggs and bacon on the counter. "Wanna help?"
I hesitated. "I might screw it up."
"Don't worry about that," she assured me, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Come on."
Reluctantly, I stepped into the kitchen, feeling out of place among the clutter of food and utensils. She began taking more items out of the bags—bread, cheese, tomatoes.
"Here," she said, handing me a loaf of bread. "Start slicing this."
I took the bread and knife, feeling awkward but willing to try. As I sliced, Beth hummed softly, her melody filling the small space and mingling with the sizzle of bacon in the pan. It reminded me of when I'd overheard her singing in the garage; it was unexpected yet soothing.
"What's that song?" I asked before I could stop myself.
She glanced at me, surprised. "Oh, just something I'm working on."
"It's nice," I admitted grudgingly.
"Thanks," she said softly, focusing on her task but with a small smile playing on her lips.
We worked in silence for a few minutes, Beth moving with practiced ease while I fumbled with my task. Despite my clumsiness, there was something oddly comforting about this domestic scene. It was so different from the usual solitude of my mornings.
"You really don't cook much, do you?" she asked after a while.
"Nope," I replied shortly.
"We'll have to change that," she said lightly.
Her optimism both irritated and intrigued me. I couldn't remember the last time someone had been so insistent on being around me.
Beth handed me some cheese to grate as she began arranging sliced tomatoes on a plate. The simple act of working together felt strange yet familiar in an odd way—like something I'd missed without realizing it.
"You know," she said casually, "Christmas isn't so bad when you have good company."
I grunted noncommittally but couldn't help wondering if maybe—just maybe—she had a point.
She glanced at my uneven slices of bread and laughed. "You know, for a mechanic, you're not half bad at this."
I grunted, unsure if it was a compliment or not. Still, the corner of my mouth twitched up slightly.
She started slicing vegetables with quick, precise movements. I watched her hands, admiring how skillfully she handled the knife. Then, suddenly, she cursed and dropped the tomato.
I blinked in surprise. "I think that's the first time I've heard you say a bad word."
She grimaced, holding her finger. "Sorry about that."
"Here," I said, stepping forward. "Let me help with that."
Guiding her to the sink, I turned on the cold water and placed her finger under the stream. She winced but didn't pull away.
"Stay there," I instructed, heading to the fridge and grabbing the first aid kit I kept on hand for accidents.
Returning to her side, I turned off the faucet and gently dried off her finger with a clean towel. Her eyes followed my movements, curious and a little wary.
"Doesn't look too bad," I murmured, pulling out a bandage from the kit.
Carefully, I wrapped it around her finger, making sure it was secure but not too tight. Our hands brushed together briefly, sending an unexpected jolt through me. I glanced up at her face; she was watching me intently, a small smile playing on her lips.
"Thanks," she said softly.
I shrugged. "No big deal."
She pulled her hand back and inspected my handiwork. "You're pretty good at this."
"I've had practice," I replied gruffly.
Beth nodded and returned to slicing vegetables more carefully this time. I picked up where I'd left off with the bread, our earlier rhythm returning but with a new layer of understanding between us. The silence wasn't uncomfortable anymore—it felt almost companionable.
The kitchen filled with the smell of bacon and fresh-cut vegetables. The air seemed lighter somehow, less weighed down by my usual thoughts.
For a moment, just a moment, it felt like maybe things could be different. Maybe not every day had to be hard. Maybe there was room for small joys like breakfast with a friend who wouldn't give up on me—even when I tried pushing her away.
Like an annoying fly.
Beth placed a pan on the stove and turned on the burner. "All right, Daryl, time to learn how to make an omelette," she announced with enthusiasm.
I raised an eyebrow. "You really think I can do that?"
"Of course," she replied confidently. "First, crack a couple of eggs into this bowl."
She handed me a bowl and two eggs. I cracked one carefully, feeling the shell give way under my fingers. The yolk landed neatly in the bowl, but the second egg wasn't as cooperative. Bits of shell mixed with the egg.
Beth chuckled. "Not bad for a first try." She fished out the shell pieces with a fork and handed me a whisk. "Now, whisk it all together until it's smooth."
I followed her instructions, watching as the yolks and whites blended into a uniform mixture. It felt oddly satisfying.
"Good job," she said approvingly. "Now, add a pinch of salt and pepper."
I did as she instructed, then watched as she added a bit of butter to the heated pan. It sizzled and melted quickly.
"Pour the eggs in slowly," she directed.
I tipped the bowl over the pan, letting the mixture spread evenly. The smell of cooking eggs filled the air, mingling with the scent of bacon.
"Now," she said, "we wait for it to set a bit before adding fillings."
I glanced at her curiously. "What kind of fillings?"
"Whatever you like," she replied with a smile. "We have cheese, tomatoes, onions... your choice."
"Cheese and tomatoes sound good," I decided.
Beth nodded and sprinkled some grated cheese over one half of the omelette. She added sliced tomatoes next, their vibrant red contrasting with the yellow eggs.
"Okay," she said, holding a spatula out to me. "Gently fold it in half."
Taking the spatula from her hand, I slid it under one side of the omelette and lifted carefully. It folded over smoothly, trapping the fillings inside.
"Perfect!" Beth exclaimed. "Let it cook for another minute or so, then it'll be ready."
I watched as it cooked through, feeling an unexpected sense of accomplishment. When Beth finally declared it done, I slid it onto a plate and handed it to her.
"Here you go," I said awkwardly.
She took a bite and smiled brightly. "Delicious! Now make one for yourself."
I hesitated but then followed her instructions again—cracking eggs (more successfully this time), whisking them smooth, seasoning just right, pouring into the pan with growing confidence.
As my own omelette took shape, Beth leaned against the counter watching me with approval in her eyes. For once in my life—standing there cooking breakfast with someone who didn't mind my inability to fucking cook—I felt like maybe things could be all right after all.
But there was still that nagging thought in my head...
Her eyes were on me as I flipped the omelette onto my plate. She gave a nod of approval, and for a moment, I felt a strange sense of pride. We sat down at the small kitchen table, our plates steaming with fresh-cooked breakfast.
I took a tentative bite. It wasn't half bad. The cheese melted just right; the tomatoes adding a burst of flavor. "Not bad," I muttered, more to myself than to her.
"Told you so," she said, her smile wide and genuine.
As we ate, the silence between us felt different—less like an awkward pause and more like a comfortable break. Beth hummed softly again, that same tune I'd overheard before.
"You write songs often?"
Her cheeks flushed slightly. "Sometimes. Just for fun."
"Sounds nice," I murmured. "You should share 'em more."
She shrugged, looking down at her plate. "It's personal. And I'm not sure if they're any good."
I found myself wanting to encourage her, something I hadn't felt in a long time. "From what I've heard, they're good."
Her eyes met mine. "Thanks, Daryl."
We finished our meal in a companionable silence. Once done, Beth stood up and began clearing the table. I followed suit, taking the plates to the sink.
"Let me wash these," she offered.
"Nah," I said gruffly. "You've done enough. I'll handle it."
She didn't argue, just stepped aside and watched as I scrubbed the dishes clean. The repetitive motion was oddly soothing, giving me time to process the morning's events.
"You know," she said after a while, leaning against the counter again, "I really appreciate this."
"Appreciate what?" I asked without turning around.
"Being here," she said softly. "With you."
Her words hit me harder than I'd expected. Letting someone in wasn't something I did easily—or often—but there was something about Beth that made it feel... okay.
I finished the last dish and dried my hands on a towel before turning to face her. "You're persistent," I said with a half-smile.
She laughed lightly. "You have no idea."
The sunlight streamed through the window, casting a warm glow over the kitchen. For the first time in years, it felt like maybe this place could be more than just where I lived—it could be home.
"Oh," she said suddenly, a hint of excitement in her voice. "I grabbed you something."
She walked over to a bag I hadn't noticed earlier and pulled out a wreath. It was bright and colorful, covered in small ornaments and a big red bow.
"For your door," she explained, holding it out to me.
I took it, staring at the festive decoration with a mix of confusion and reluctance. "It's frilly," I said flatly.
"Don't scowl," she teased with a light laugh. "It's festive."
I looked at her, unable to hide my bemusement. "Frilly," I repeated, shaking my head slightly.
She huffed a sigh and glanced at the clock. "I should probably get going," she said reluctantly. "Don't want to overstay."
"You're not," I replied quickly, surprising even myself. My eyes darted away from her face. What was I doing? She should leave. She was right.
She gave me a long look, her eyes searching mine. "Christmas Eve's coming up," she said softly.
"Yeah."
"I'm hosting a dinner at the café," she continued. "For friends. I'd like you to come."
"Me?"
She nodded, her expression earnest. "You're my friend, aren't you?"
I glanced down at her lips, feeling an inexplicable pull towards her. In truth, I wanted to be more than her friend.
"Something like that," I murmured.
She sucked in a breath, hope flickering in her eyes. "So, you'll come?" she asked, almost holding her breath.
"I'll think about it," I said, trying to sound nonchalant but knowing it came out softer than intended.
She glanced into my eyes for a moment that felt like forever. "I guess that's all I can ask for," she said finally, offering me a small smile that held both understanding and something deeper.
I grunted in response, feeling words stick in my throat as I watched her gather her things.
Beth stood on the balls of her feet, her movements slow and deliberate. Her arms slid around my shoulders, her touch light but firm. I felt her warmth seep through my shirt, and for a moment, I was frozen.
Then, she kissed me.
It was a gentle kiss at first, soft and tentative. Her lips pressed against mine with a sweetness that took me by surprise. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears.
I closed my eyes, letting myself get lost in the moment. The world outside the kitchen seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of us standing there. Her lips moved slowly against mine, and I found myself responding in kind.
My hands found their way to her waist, pulling her closer. The kiss deepened, growing more urgent yet still holding that same tenderness. There was a vulnerability in the way she kissed me, as if she was baring a part of herself she'd kept hidden.
Her fingers threaded through the hair at the nape of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. I could taste the remnants of our breakfast on her lips—eggs and cheese mixed with something uniquely hers. The scent of her hair filled my senses, a mixture of coffee and something floral.
I kissed her back with a hunger I hadn't known I possessed. My hands roamed up her back, feeling the curve of her spine through the fabric of her shirt. She pressed herself closer to me, our bodies fitting together as if they'd always belonged that way.
Beth's breath hitched slightly as our lips parted for just a moment before finding each other again. There was a sweetness to it.
The kiss lingered, each second stretching out into eternity. Her touch was like fire and ice all at once, igniting something deep within me while also soothing an ache I hadn't realized was there.
Finally, we pulled away, both breathing heavily. Her eyes searched mine, looking for answers I wasn't sure I had but willing to find together.
In that moment, standing in the kitchen with Beth still wrapped around me, I felt something shift inside me—a crack.
Without warning, she smiled like the fucking sun, moving to the door without another word.
I was fucking ruined.