Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
SOFIA
“What would you like for breakfast?”
As I walk into the kitchen, I jolt at the incongruity of what I was expecting and reality.
What I was expecting to see at eight AM on Friday morning was an empty kitchen.
I figured Nico would already be working in his home office, since he told me before bed last night that he wasn’t planning on going into Fox glimmers of things I still see even now.
I always loved how thoughtful he was. He’d pay attention to the things I liked best—the cozy mysteries I’d stock up on at the library and my obsession with red velvet cupcakes—and surprise me with a pile of brand new books or a box of cupcakes from my favorite bakery.
Sure, he could afford to buy me gifts all the time.
But they weren’t generic gifts, like flowers or chocolate.
They were gifts that meant he really knew me.
Even as a teenager, Nico was protective.
He’d always insist on walking on the outside of the sidewalk because it was safer for me.
He’d pick me up from swimming practice every evening so I wouldn’t have to take the subway home alone.
And if anyone gave me trouble—hinting I didn’t belong at our exclusive private school because I was a scholarship kid or making fun of me for living in Brooklyn—he’d immediately jump in to defend me.
Another thing I loved about Nico was his vulnerability.
He never let anyone see it but me. To everyone else, he was confident.
Athletic. Smart. The guy everyone wanted to be.
But when we were alone, he’d let his walls down.
He’d admit his worries about not being good enough.
About never living up to the standards his father set.
About making his father angry because he wanted to forge his own path instead of following the one his father set for him.
It was easy to fall in love with Nico back then.
And it’s hard not to want to forgive him now.
That logical voice in my head—she’s very annoying at times—reminds me that Nico could just hurt me again. That the old saying, Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me, holds true.
It would be safer to close myself off to him. I know it.
But then Nico does something to remind me of that boy I loved.
He remembered my favorite books. He made my coffee just the way I like best. He dropped everything to be by my side at the hospital, even after we hadn’t spoken in years. He faced his father, which can’t have been an easy thing, and forced him to tell the truth.
And last night, he let his walls down for me. While Nico told me what happened with his father, I saw the anger and devastation in his eyes. The guilt. The desperation to make things right.
So, yeah. It’s hard to close off my heart to him, even if common sense tells me I should.
“Breakfast?” Nico asks. His brows arch up.
“Are you hungry?” He gestures with a whisk at the bowl on the counter in front of him.
“I started making up some eggs, with cheese the way you always liked. But if you’re not feeling like eggs, I could make more avocado toast. Or…
I might have ingredients for pancakes. I haven’t made them in a long time—” He stops and makes a sheepish face.
“Okay. I only made pancakes once. But how hard can it be?”
I blink at him, wondering if I’m possibly experiencing delayed hallucinations.
Why is Nico in the kitchen, cooking, instead of holed away in his office?
Why is he offering to make breakfast for me?
And why is he still wearing the same athletic shorts and T-shirt he sleeps in, instead of the suits he’s worn even while working from home?
As my gaze drifts across the expanse of his chest and down his tattooed arms, more questions arise.
Why does he look so good in that shirt?
Does he lift weights every day to get his muscles that big?
When did he get those tattoos? And are they just on his arms and hands, or everywhere?
“Sofia?” Nico sets the whisk into the bowl and rounds the island, heading towards me. His hesitant smile fades, and a worried expression replaces it. “Is something wrong? Are you feeling sick? Hurting? Or—” His brow furrows. “Have you changed your mind about staying?”
“Um. No.” I tear my gaze from the intricate design inked on his forearm. “I was just… surprised.”
“Surprised? Why?”
“Well.” As he moves closer to me, I catch a hint of cedar and citrus.
It’s woodsy but fresh, the scent reminiscent of walking through the woods on a sunny day.
Which of course—because my stupid brain is still stuck in the past—reminds me of the times Nico and I would head upstate for the day, exploring the Catskills or the Adirondacks.
“Well?” he asks. “Well, what?”
Stop thinking about how he smells, I tell myself. Stop thinking about his tattoos and how ridiculously big his biceps are. Just because Nico is the sexiest man I’ve ever seen doesn’t negate what he did. It doesn’t make me less mad at him.
Taking a step back from him, I try to ignore the flicker of hurt in his eyes. “I thought you’d be working already.”
Nico’s gaze lingers on my face, carefully assessing. “Are you sure that’s all? Because if something’s wrong—”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
Aside from being attacked twice, living with my ex, hearing confirmation after eighteen years that Nico’s father lied, and feeling completely unsettled by Nico’s appearance. But other than that, everything’s great.
He inspects me for another second, then turns and returns to the island. Picking up the whisk again, he briskly stirs the mixture in the bowl. “I’m taking the day off,” he replies. “So I thought I’d make breakfast.”
“You’re taking the day off? Why?”
He gestures at the stools set on the opposite side of the island. “Sit. You look tired.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “I look tired? Gee, thanks.”
Nico stops mid-stir. “Shit. I didn’t mean it that way. You look fine. I just know you were up late. Which was my fault.”
As he looks at me, his careful veneer of confidence slips. And behind it, the same vulnerability I saw last night reappears.
He’s nervous, I realize. He really meant it when he said he wants to make up for what he did. But he’s not sure how.
Another layer of ice around my heart softens.
I slide onto a stool and peer at the contents in the mixing bowl. It looks like there’s an entire carton of eggs in there, plus about a pound of shredded cheese. “How many people are you planning to feed?” I ask. “Just us? Or a small army?”
Nico looks into the bowl. “Just us.” His lips quirk. “I kept adding eggs because it didn’t look like enough. So then I had to keep adding cheese to get the right ratio.”
“I see.”
He starts stirring again. “I don’t cook much.
When I was active duty, I was traveling a lot, so it was easier to eat out or do microwave dinners.
Things that wouldn’t go bad in the fridge if I was gone for a couple of weeks.
And after, I was so busy getting the company up and running, there never seemed to be enough time. ”
“How long ago did you start it?”
“Just about five years ago. I separated from the Army when I was thirty. And it took close to a year to get everything with Fox & Falcon up and running. Finding a location, creating a business plan, hiring employees, training them, getting jobs lined up…”
“You didn’t want to work with your dad?” Nico’s father owns a home security company, or at least, he did. From what I recall, it focused more on setting up systems in private residences, rather than the corporate and government clients Fox & Falcon serves.
Nico grimaces. Anger tightens his features. But he quickly smooths his expression into a more neutral one. “No. I didn’t. He wanted me to. That was one of the reasons he didn’t want me… Well. He wasn’t happy when I enlisted. He told me I was wasting my talents.”
“What? Wasting your talents by joining the Army? Fighting for our country? Joining one of the most elite Special Ops groups in the entire world?”
“I didn’t think it was a waste, either.” A faint smile lifts his lips.
“And obviously, I didn’t listen to him. But while I was serving, I got the idea of starting my own company.
One my friends could be a part of. Private security made sense, given our experience.
But joining up with my father? No. I never wanted that. ”
“You wanted to make something of your own.”
“Yeah.” Nico nods. “I did.”