Chapter 14 #3
I wanted to ask if it was better here. If I was better than what his family did. But that felt too much like fishing, and I didn’t want to make him feel like he should be grateful for basic human decency.
I decided the deck would be best for breakfast, so I shot Tiago a text with how to get out there—the back door was a little tricky to find even for people with full sight. Then I whipped up a frittata, the one fancy dish I could make.
Well, mostly make.
Well, it resembled a frittata anyway.
It had eggs, cheese, and sauteed vegetables, so that was close enough…right? The fridge was also stocked with fruit, which only took me a few seconds to chop up, and then I poured the coffee into the insulated carafe, set the outside dining table, and called it a win.
It looked nicer than I would have done for myself, which was a doughnut and a drip coffee from Dunkin that I would have eaten on the beach like a fucking goblin.
I was just getting settled with a giant glass of water when Tiago appeared in the doorway. He was dressed, which was a shame, but he looked all hot and tropical, which was very nice.
The button-up shirt had beige palm trees printed all over it, and he was wearing shorts, which showed off his massive fucking calf muscles. His eyes were blocked out by his shades, but he turned his head from left to right as he stepped past the lip in the door.
“To your left,” I said. “No idea how many steps, but there’s nothing in your way.”
He found the table and an empty chair with an outstretched hand, and as he sat, I pushed his plate in front of him.
“What did you cook?”
“Egg frittata thing,” I said. “I know how you all like your morning protein.”
He smirked.
“Oh my god, that’s not what I—well. Actually, that might have been nice.”
“Maybe an afternoon snack,” he said as he picked up his fork and traced the shape of the half circle of eggs I’d served him.
I had no idea what to say to that, so I settled back in my seat and gulped down my water. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him cut into the food, then take a bite.
My breath caught in my chest as I waited for any kind of reaction.
“Oh. It’s good.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” I muttered, reaching for the bowl of honeydew.
He lifted a brow. “You’re the one who told me you suck at cooking. I had very low expectations.”
I had only myself to blame for that, and it was fair. I did suck at cooking. But the praise felt good, even if it was grudgingly given from his below-the-ground expectations.
We said nothing as he ate, and his fingers traced out until they found the water I’d left for him, then his coffee mug, which he frowned at when he realized it was empty.
“Did you drink it all?”
I sighed and leaned forward. “No. I’d be shitting my brains out if I did. I brought out the carafe. Full cup?”
He nodded, and I filled his mug, and then he tipped it back like he had earlier—like the coffee was the only reason he was going to be able to survive the day.
“Did you sleep like shit?” I asked.
He looked surprised as he set his fork down. “No. Why? Do I look that bad?”
“No. But you’re raw dogging black coffee like it’s going to make you money on OnlyFans.”
He choked. “Wow. Uh…I don’t know how to respond to that.”
My face heated. I was being too much again. Fucking damn it. “I just wanted to make sure last night wasn’t too weird. You know, sleeping in my bed. With me. My dad said you can use his room if you want.”
“I feel like that’s weirder,” he muttered. “But if you want me out—”
“You can stay. You’re good at cuddling,” I blurted, then slapped my hand over my face. I was going to carve out my own tongue, I swear to god.
Tiago’s cheeks pinked, but he didn’t look upset. He was clearly fighting off a smile. “I passed right out, but you must have been good at it, too, because I didn’t wake up.”
Silence fell again, and I had no idea what to fill it with. After an actual eternity, the silence got more awkward, and when I cleared my throat, Tiago jumped.
“Sorry.”
“No. This is just…” He trailed off with a shrug. “This isn’t how I pictured my summer going.”
“What would you be doing normally?”
“Jerking off, skipping showers, avoiding my GM trying to talk me into sponsorship photoshoot bullshit,” he said. “With any luck, doing the rounds with the cup, but even without my fucking knee, I knew that wasn’t going to happen this year.” He went quiet. “Sorry. Too much hockey, eh?”
“Nah. You’re better than my dad.” I pressed my hands to the table and pushed myself up to stand. “How sucky is it for you to walk with the brace on the sand?”
Tiago’s brows furrowed. “Uh…why?”
“The beach is like ten steps away from the pool. I thought it might be a nice walk.”
He hesitated, then said, “I’m actually supposed to be using the brace less. My PT team isn’t happy with me for being such a giant baby about my recovery.”
“Want to go build sandcastles?” I asked. There was a cabinet on the porch full of beach toys for whoever in the family brought their kids.
“Wait. Really?” he asked. I was about to apologize for being so fucking weird, but before the words left my mouth, he stood up. “Yes, I want to build fucking sandcastles.”
I laughed, but only because if I didn’t laugh, I might have actually cried.