Was he… cooking?
Noises came from the kitchen and the bedroom door where Garrett slept in was opened, so I figured he was at least attempting the feat I’d rarely seen him do before. To my utter surprise, I found him in the kitchen, scrolling through the screen on his phone, standing in a mess that could only be described as the aftermath of a bomb exploding.
“Um. What the hell?” I asked before I could censor myself.
I wasn’t a neat freak by any means, but this? There was what looked like pancake batter dripping off the counter’s edge. The blender I only pulled out for the rare margarita had some sort of thick, yellow-ish substance in it. Banana peels were piled at the edge of the island. Egg shells were cracked and opened, pooling on my white marble countertops. The mere sight of everything threatened to have my morning sickness make a return appearance.
“Shit.” Garrett dropped his phone to the counter. “I meant to have it cleaned before you woke up.”
“What is all this?” I took a cautious step into my usually stark white and impersonal but large kitchen, careful to keep an eye on the flour on the floor and headed toward the coffee. Once I popped in a pod, I grabbed a mug from the stand next to it and settled everything, inhaling my favorite aroma as it brewed.
It had the added bonus of muting the other scents in the room that still made me feel a shade of green.
“Banana oat muffins and a banana smoothie.” At my look, which had to be saying something close to What the hell for? he grinned sheepishly. “I read online it’s good for morning sickness.”
Oh. Ohhhh. My heart squeezed as he turned from me and picked up banana peels and eggshells and threw them in the trash.
“That was… that was really sweet of you. Thank you. How long have you been awake?”
It was barely seven. Garrett was an early riser, but for him to not only make all of this, plus go to the store to buy everything? What time had he woken up? It had to have been crazy early.
He cleared his throat and brought his coffee to his mouth. Over the rim, he said, “I didn’t sleep well last night.
Guilt hit me like a swift kick to the ribs. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “For all of this.”
“I know.” He took a drink and set down his coffee and began cleaning the mess he’d left on the counter.
I didn’t usually eat bananas and my morning breakfast had consisted of toast with the occasional swipe of peanut butter for protein, but the muffins didn’t look too bad. I grabbed one and scooted around to the other side of the island. Peeling off a small chunk, I plopped it into my mouth, preparing myself for it to taste like cardboard or for the texture to ignite my gag reflex.
Fortunately—and surprisingly—it was pretty decent. I caught Garrett watching out of the corner of his eye.
“It’s not bad,” I said and tore off another chunk.
“Thanks for the compliment,” he teased and rinsed out the dishcloth.
As he cleaned, I ate. It was with a stony silence and not the comfortable peace between us. I squirmed on my seat, not knowing how to begin what we needed to talk about.
He didn’t seem to be in a rush, or maybe he was as lost as I was because he didn’t say a thing to me while I ate.
Once I finished the muffin, and he was still cleaning, I asked, “Can I try the smoothie?”
“You sure?”
I shrugged one shoulder. “The muffin didn’t kill me.”
“Smartass.” He turned and flipped the switch, refreshing the mixture that looked goopy and gloppy, but I could try this. If bananas helped and if I could swallow it, I’d try anything to have a settled stomach.
He slid it in front of me and I swiped a small area where it’d overflowed around the glass. I brought my finger to my mouth and licked it off, catching Garrett’s gaze on me.
And that gaze?
It was heated. A warm sensation slid down my spine as I repeated the move. It was sweet, with a slight tang. The taste didn’t matter. I could have been drinking poured cardboard for as much as I was paying attention to it.
I must have let out a sound because Garrett’s gaze darted to me and then quickly away.
“How would you feel about getting out of here and going for a walk?”
“A walk?”
“Yeah.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Do you feel well enough to do that?”
Better now than later when my human body would take the form of a sloth for the remainder of the afternoon.
“Sure.”
6
Garrett
I’d slept like crap all night, despite the bed being new and comfortable. With Lizzie down the hall from me and very vivid memories of what our last time together was like, able to relax that close to her and so far away at the same tie was near impossible. Add in it was the last time I’d had sex, and my rock-hard dick kept me awake as much as my frustration with the situation we were in.
I’d finally crawled out of bed around four-thirty, pulled up a twenty-four-hour gym where I could get a free weekend pass. I’d worked out, stopped at the grocery store, and been back at her place, showered and cooking breakfast, when she woke up.
Now, we were headed down Michigan Avenue, weaving our way around professionals in suits on their way to work and retail workers preparing to open the stores on the Magnificent Mile. The wind was brisk and chilly, not unusual due to the time of year, and I took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scents of exhaust and water and dirt and excitement and anticipation.
Three months. It’d barely been three months since I was in Chicago, but damn, I missed this city.
Next to me, Lizzie was bundled in her winter coat with lightweight gloves on her hands and shoved into her pockets. She’d thrown on leggings and furry boots that almost came up to her knees. She was dressed more for February than mid-March, but that was normal. As much as she loved the city, she despised any weather below fifty degrees.
“Do you miss it?” she asked.
“I miss everything about the city.” I was still hoping Vegas would eventually begin to feel like home, but I doubted I’d ever get used to living in the desert. My backyard didn’t have grass, for crying out loud, but dirt and rock. My neighbors had mostly cemented their backyard and added a pool. The pool I’d consider, but a cement backyard? I was used to trees. City buildings and rooftop parks at the very least—not dust and scorpions.
She pushed her lips out, a move she made when she was thinking of something and debating how to say it.
I gave her a minute. Two. We crossed the street and headed toward Millennial Park, and she still hadn’t said anything.
“I’m keeping it,” she blurted quietly, stunning me so badly my knees locked and my boots froze to the slushy pavement.
“What?”
She rubbed her hands together and stared at her own boots before she slowly lifted her eyes to meet mine. “The baby. I’m keeping it. I just… I thought you should know that.”
A rushing wind rolled through me, stunning me. “I hadn’t considered you’d do anything different, Lizzie. Not with our baby.”
“Okay. Good. I just… I didn’t know… you… and Vegas… and…”