Page 99 of Dare To Fall

“I’d order in or eat out at a restaurant.”

“I saw a recipe book in the kitchen. Find one for pancakes and make them for me.”

I rise to my feet slowly.

“You can put your pants back on. No underwear or shirt, though. I want you to be commando and shirtless for the next two days.”

My jaw clenches, but I reach for my sweats and pull them on, then walk into the kitchen.

How the fuck am I supposed to get around this?

I find the recipe book in a drawer and stare down at it. I don’t want to touch it. Definitely don’t want to fucking open it. I know what I’m going to find inside and I’m not sure I can handle it.

“Ari—”

“Pancakes, Eli.” Her tone is imperious.

She has no fucking clue what’s she asking me to do. My heart is in my throat, and my mouth is dry. I lick my lips, flick my lip ring, and turn toward the door.

“Ari—” My voice comes out as a hoarse croak.

“You’re going to fall at the first hurdle? Just because you don’t know how to make pancakes?” She sounds disappointed. “I should have known better than to think you’d even try once I asked you to do something you don’t already know inside and out.”

I press my lips together and turn back, eyeing the recipe book like it’s a venomous snake. The three steps it takes me to put myself in front of it again feel like miles. I stare down at it, then slowly reach into the drawer to take it out.

My hand is shaking. I make a fist, digging my nails into my palm, then try again. This time I manage to touch it, but then I take a step back.

I can’t. I can’t fucking do it.

I retreat, grunting when my back collides with the doorframe.

“Could you write a recipe down instead? Use one of the pages from my sketchpad.”

Not that it’ll make it any easier for me to do what she wants, but it’ll cause a different problem. One I can deal with.

“For god’s sake, Eli. Just use the recipe book.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry, Ari. But I can’t do it.”

“Why not?”

“Please. I’ll do anything else you want, but not this. I can’t do this. There are going to be notes. Photographs.”

“Of course, there is. It’s a recipe book!”

“No. You don’t understand. It’s my mom’s.”

Chapter 66

Arabella

I stare at his pale face, his eyes full of pain and devastation.

My annoyance at his refusal morphs into understanding. “Sure, I can write it down for you.”

He takes a hard, shaky breath. “Okay.”

My heart screams out for the boy who’d lost his mother. The part of him who still grieves for the parent he lost and hasn’t had a chance to mourn or heal properly. As much as I want to make him obey me, I don’t like to see him like this. Vulnerable Eli is not what I’m used to.

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