Page 72 of Broken Pact

“I know you’re teasing me, and I don’t mind. I don’t think either one of us were all that interested in talking.” I chuckle, rolling my eyes. The humor fades, and I lower my voice. “But I'm listening now, Jasper.”

It’s not exactly closure, but it’s a start, I think. And it’s enough for tonight.

He squeezes my ankle and conversation lulls into comfortable silence. The cicadas amp up their song, and I snuggle deeper into the couch, keeping my one leg outstretched. My eyes feel heavy, and I let them rest. Just for a minute, I tell myself.

“Coraline?”

“Hm?” I answer without opening my eyes, the clutches of sleep already dragging me under.

“Why did you leave me?” he whispers.

I try to rise back to the surface, but it’s too late. I’m already gone, cradled in sleep’s sweet embrace.

35

JASPER

I wake up with a start, my hand wrapped around her ankle, as if grounding myself even in sleep. If this were the Regency era, this kind of touch would be cause for marriage. The thought makes me chuckle softly as I gently sweep my thumb over her ankle bone.

Coraline stirs but doesn’t wake, lips slightly parted, lashes dark smudges against her cheeks, and face relaxed in the early morning light. The sight of her here, in my house, with my cat wedged between her thigh and the couch cushion, feels like a stolen moment. A secret for me alone.

I allow myself a moment to look at her. To memorize the slope of her nose and the curve of her lips and the shape of her brows. She looks different like this, vulnerable and unguarded. It feels like a privilege to witness it, and I’m positive she’d be pissed if she knew.

I wonder what secrets her dreams hold and what demons haunt her in slumber. Is she dreaming about what happened last night? My imagination filled in the details she didn’t supply, and all I can hope is that it’s not as horrible as what my mind conjured up.

Which reminds me, I still have to watch the footage.

I slip off the couch and head to the kitchen. Pudding opens one eye, his yellow gemstone iris assessing me. He stretches his front legs, kneading his little paws against her thigh.

As quietly as I can, I head to the kitchen and pull out everything I need to caffeinate us. One of the pantry cabinets by the stove has a pullout drawer, equipped with electrical. My espresso machine, frothers, and a few other things I like to use. When I crash at the clubhouse, it’s easy to swing by the Coffee Shop to grab something, but it’s just far enough away from my house to make it mildly inconvenient.

And right next to my coffee arsenal is my brand-new matcha machine. Sleek matte white and shaped kind of like a little rectangle. An impulsive purchase on the off chance I’d find myself with a house guest who prefers the green stuff. Or maybe it was a manifesting purchase.

Pudding’s soft head butts up against my ankles, his polite way of saying good morning, please feed me now. I bend down and scoop him up with one hand, cuddling him against my chest. He purrs, his little motor already revved up from his night snuggling my girl.

“I bet you liked that, hm? Getting all cozy with my girl,” I tease him in a hushed voice. He blinks up at me, his wide eyes reminding me of one of those Disney cartoon cats. I swear he knows what he’s doing, giving me his version of kitty eyes.

He rubs the side of his face against the palm of my hand, a quiet impatient demand. “Alright, alright,” I mutter, scratching around his ears to give him the attention he so rightly deserves.

“I know we usually have our coffee together on the couch, but it’s a little occupied right now, bud,” I murmur quietly. I glance over my shoulder to make sure she’s still sleeping.

But fuck me though, because how the hell does someone look so perfect while they’re sleeping? No drool or weird noises. Not even a single wayward kick to the face, given our positions on the couch could’ve been a real fucking terrible way to wake up.

Nah, not Coraline Carter. She had to go and continue being fucking perfect for me. I mean, I’d still take her if she snored even a little, just saying.

I grab Pudding’s fancy cat food and give him breakfast, setting him down on the floor next to the water and food bowls I made for him at the pottery studio in Rosewood. They’re a little wonky, not quite even, but I think he likes them. I even painted a pretty detailed rainbow trout on one bowl, since it’s my boy’s favorite.

I wash my hands and get to work on making both of us something to drink. I pull a few shots of espresso and froth a little chocolate milk for me, both machines humming as they work. And while that’s going, I pull up a video tutorial on how to best use the matcha machine. It seems pretty self-explanatory, so I follow the directions, and in just a few seconds, the machine purrs as bright green matcha pours out.

I let myself get lost in the routine. Yesterday’s tension lingers in the air like the scent of fried food. I can feel it in my hair and on my skin, like some kind of film I need to wash off.

Once her matcha is ready, I add the frothed milk and some vanilla syrup and dump it over ice. She’s still asleep, so I leave it on the coffee table in front of her, a silent good morning. Then I grab my own drink and step out onto the porch.

The early morning air feels good in my lungs, and I pull another deep breath. Goddamn do I love it here. I settle into one of the cushioned lounge chairs and take a sip of my coffee. Though, it’s more espresso shots than latte, but that’s because I need the fucking pick-me-up this morning.

And I think I’m going to need the straight shots to fortify me for what I’m about to watch.

With a deep breath, I pull out my phone and open Coraline’s security app. After I left her in my room last night, my foot barely hit the first floor before I was pulling up the app. But because yesterday was an unexpected shitshow, the app was down for routine server maintenance until four o’clock in the morning. Instead of analyzing the footage, I spent an hour researching new security companies and their app and server providers to make sure nothing like this ever happens again.

---