“Taken care of me.”
I don’t know how long he continues to play with my hair before I fall into a deep, uneventful sleep.
The sun has set by the time I wake up.
I’m not sure if it’s the anti-inflammatories that finally kicked in or Eli’s presence alone, but my pain seems to be in simmering mode instead of its previous raze-everything-to-the-ground, so I’ll take it.
I turn my head and find my cheek is back to resting on Ruth’s scratchy throw pillow. I only have a second to be disappointed Eli is gone before I smell something delicious wafting through the hallway. I stand, this time tucking my hair back into a tight bun. I’m careful not to look into any mirror as I make my way to the kitchen, since I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know what I look like.
Eli doesn’t notice my presence as I walk in, earbuds in his ears. He’s muttering what I think are song lyrics as he whisks something—where he found the stuff to cook when everything is in boxes, I have no idea. My gaze snags on the corded muscles of hisforearms while he uses the whisk so effortlessly, like an extension of his hands. There’s something about capable men that’s always done it for me, and since he’s Eli, itvery muchdoes it for me now.
“Where have you hidden these moves all your life?” I say, leaning against the counter.
He doesn’t jump, only looks up with a devilish smirk. “Enjoying the show, are we?”
He has no idea.
“What are you making?” I ask as I take a step closer, peering into the pan.
“Just an omelet. You don’t have much in your fridge to work with.”
“Aren’t you a professional?”
He grins. “This felt like an episode of Chopped. What can I make with eggs, dried grass from the yard, a bag of stale marshmallows, and a Tupperware of questionable sauce?”
“That’s my chili, you snob.”
Amusement and shock flash through his eyes. “The situation is even worse than I’d imagined.”
“It was good.” Liquidy, maybe, but it did its job.
“I’m sure it was a valiant effort.”
I poke him in the ribs. “Taste it.”
“I’m a single father, Cass. I can’t take those kinds of risks anymore.”
He finishes making the meal as I go to the bathroom and change into cleaner clothes—aka a new pair of sweatpants and T-shirt. Atthis point, it’s too late to pretend I look like something other than a troll today.
The food is ready by the time I return to the kitchen, Eli leaning back against the countertop with a rag draped over his shoulder. “You look better.”
“I feel better.” I sit down at the table, a plate steaming in front of me. “Thank you for this.”
“For what?” He grabs a seat next to me with a plate of his own in his hands.
“Everything,” I say with a hand motion toward the living room. I’m afraid of putting into words how intimate the moment we shared was and making him feel awkward about it, but I can’t not thank him for it. “I truly appreciate it so much. It wasn’t necessary.”
He cocks his head, letting his fork down on the table, straight and perfectly lined with his glass of water. “You’re difficult, you know that?”
“Thanks?” I say with raised brows.
“I mean, helping you feels like trying to move a brick wall.”
“Wow, just keeps getting better.”
He laughs. “As much as you give, it looks almost painful for you to receive.”
“And look who’s talking, Mr. I’ll-do-it-all-alone-and-no-one-help-me.”
