Page 72 of Angel

“How did you know how I like my coffee?”

Angel hides his shy smile behind his own mug of black. “I asked Hayden.”

“Hayden?” My head snaps around and only then do I notice that his door is closed. He must still be asleep.

“He came home when I got up to go pee,” Angel explains.

My heart skips a beat. It’s stupid. It’s just coffee. But the fact that Angel thought to ask, in the dead of night, when he was probably still half asleep…

I busy myself with taking a long gulp of the sweet, milky brew. If I dwell on how sweet Angel is, I’m going to start crying again. Ugh. I still can’t believe I did that. In the middle of fucking sex. I mean, probably the best fucking sex I’ve ever had in my life… but still. God.

Angel sets down his mug, then turns to open the fridge. He ducks to peer inside, then starts pulling things out onto the counter. Butter. Onions. Mushrooms. Green peppers. Eggs. Cheese. The leftover brisket from yesterday.

“What are you doing?” I ask suspiciously. The kitchen is Hayden’s domain. I’m pretty useless in here, but Hayden gets all fancy with his food. Our fridge is always fully stocked, even if I don’t know what to do with the stuff in there.

“I’m making you breakfast.”

I bite back the “why?!” that’s hovering at the tip of my tongue. Then I fight back the tears prickling my eyes again. How is he so goddamn sweet? That’s not normal, that’s inhuman, that’s… I sniffle. Fuck. Fuck!

What in the holy hell is wrong with me? Did I take something that threw my hormones out of whack? That has to be it. There’s no reason for me to cry!

“Rhys?”

Ah, shit.

Angel comes toward me, concern etched on his face.

I take a step backward, holding up one hand to keep him away. “No, I’m fine! I’m totally okay! There’s nothing wrong!”

He freezes mid-step, his concerned expression growing more hurt.

Ah, god-fucking-damn it!

“No! I don’t mean… I mean… fuck, I don’t know!”

Now Angel looks worried again, like he might have a freakout on his hands. And to be honest, he might. I don’t know why I’m reacting this way and that scares me just as much as the love I feel for Angel.

“Rhys?” He takes a cautious step forward, slow and measured, like I’m a skittish animal he’s trying to soothe.

I’m torn. A part of me wants to run away and hide from him and from my feelings. Just bury my head under a pillow until this whole thing resolves itself and I can lick my wounds in peace.

Another part of me wants to run into Angel’s arms and bury my head in that little space between his shoulder and his neck. I want to pretend just a little bit longer, put off reality for another day. Let myself live in this fantasy world until real life comes knocking.

Make-believe wins out.

I rush into Angel’s arms, careful not to spill any of the coffee he so tenderly made for me. He cradles me to him, one big hand wrapped around the curve of my waist, the other tangling in my hair. I nuzzle the bare skin of his neck, breathing in the scent of fresh sawdust. Mixed with the coffee, it makes me feel like we’re enjoying the early morning in a cabin hidden in the woods.

Angel doesn’t ask me what’s wrong. He doesn’t ask why I’m all teary and acting weird. He just holds me, rocking me back and forth until my emotions finally settle. Thank god, because I wouldn’t know what to tell him. I certainly can’t say that I’ve fallen in love with him. Dear lord, that would be worse than bad.

Eventually, Angel kisses me on the head. “Breakfast?”

I nod.

He pulls away, keeping his hands on my arms until he’s sure I’m steady on my feet, then he goes back to sorting all the ingredients he pulled out of the fridge.

“What are you making?” I ask, inching a little closer.

“Omelets?” He glances at me with a question in his eyes. “Is that okay?”

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