Page 57 of Make It Without You

“Sure. I’ll have what you’re having.”

Placing my drink back on the counter, I make my way back over the espresso machine. I feel like a terrible host. But after last night and now, I’m still feeling thrown off and don’t quite know the best way to get back on track.

My back feels the burn of Adam’s stare. The espresso beans grinding becomes more and more interesting than making conversation. I get to work pouring ice in a cup and getting the milk frothed. When I’ve let the espresso breathe, I pour the espresso shots over the ice, followed by the frothed milk and a straw.

Finally turning around, I hold out the drink to Adam. “All done.”

I don’t watch him take a sip as I put the milk away and wipe down my machine. Only then do I finally face him.

“Is it good?”

“It’s good. Thank you.” He looks like he wants to say more but opts not to. “Do you have a griddle or something for the pancakes?”

“Right. Sorry.”

I find the flat-top in the panty and gather a mixing bowl, measuring cups, and a whisk.

“Do you need anything else?” I’m not sure what goes into his famous pancakes, but I’m sure I have it. I set the flat-top griddle on the counter and plug it in to warm up. When I can’t make myself busy,I sidle up next to Adam with the mixing bowl and measuring cups.

His hands get busy pulling his supplies out of his bag before I feel him pull me into his embrace. “Just you.”

My arms wrap around his waist and my body relaxes for the first time since he crossed the threshold into my home. As a matter of fact, my body relaxes for the first time since our kiss last night. His heartbeat thumps steadily in my ear and it’s enough to tether me to him. I nuzzle into his chest and inhale the scent that’s all Adam, cedarwood and patchouli.

All too soon our embrace ends and Adam pulls away from me. “I want you to sit your cute butt on the counter while I get to work and I wanna know what’s with the weirdness, Em.”

It’s a valid observation on his part. One I’ve been wondering about myself since last night.

I must be taking too long because Adam hefts me up on the counter like I weigh nothing and hands me my iced latte. “Thank you.”

“Mm-hmm. So what’s got you putting those bricks up again?”

“Baseball. I don’t want to keep bringing James up but he was such a massive part of my life.” I watch as Adam expertly measures out the pancake mix almost in a trance-like state. “When you said Dylan was at baseball camp it was like a bucketof cold water was dumped on me. Since James died I’ve avoided the sport as a whole.”

His hands stop mixing and I trail my eyes up to meet his. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know,” I put my drink off to the side. “Adam, I came to love baseball. And one day I won’t correlate the sport to pain or to him. If this thing between us continues the way we’re both predicting then I think Dylan’s games would be the perfect re-introduction.”

Am I getting ahead of myself? Putting the cart before the horse? Absolutely. But if the fire that burns in Adam’s eyes as I include his son is any indication that he feels the same, then I said the right thing.

“If you keep saying things like that then we’ll never eat.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” I counter back.

He shakes his head with a smile and gets back to the pancake mix. I watch him work in silence. There is no need for small talk as being in the space with him fills up all of the quiet spaces.

I slide off the counter while Adam scoops out some pancake batter on the heated griddle. I walk over to my record player and flip through my vinyls until I findThe National. Pulling it out of the case, I put it on the turnstile and turn the volume up until the music floats into the kitchen.

Adam looks so comfortable in my kitchen that it makes me envision Saturday mornings at his house. Hopping back up on the counter I see he’s already got a small stack of pancakes with butter smothered on top.

“Are you a fan ofThe National?”

“You kidding? They’re one of the first concerts I ever went to.”

I cross my legs, holding my drink in my hand, then ask him, “Who are your top five artists or bands if that’s what you prefer.”

He flips the last of the pancakes onto the plate and then moves my way. “Hmm.The National, obviously.Tim McGraw,The Weeknd,Lana Del Rey, andZedd. Yours?”

I point to the cabinet to the left of the stove and Adam gets two plates down for us. “Lana Del Reyis my top artist. She’s who I was listening to the first night I texted you.”

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