Page 53 of Butterfly Effect

“Be for real, Freckles. You think this is the last time you’ll be staying over here in the next few months?”

Eyes closing with frustration, she sighs through her nose. “But not in your bedroom.”

“I have seven others. Take your pick.”

“Show-off.”

“Hardhead.”

Gabe glares. “Don’t you have a morning skate or something?”

“We got rid of it this season. With how much we’re on the road, constantly crossing time zones, and sleeping on a different mattress every other night, rest is more beneficial. Olsen and Szeczin are probably still in bed.”

Outside of interviews, this might be the most civil conversation we’ve had.

Gabe selects a pair of dark jeans and a tan sweater. “Tell me you didn’t buy underwear.”

Never mind.

My hands reach for surrender. “You’re on your own.”

There’s a thudding in my chest and some mystery movement in my pants at the idea of her walking around wearing day-old panties. Snap out of it, you filthy fuck.

“Closet in the washroom has fresh towels.”

“Got it.”

I exit the bedroom, fully aware of the absolute crap awaiting me in the living room, and call through the door, “Enjoy your shower,sweetheart. I’ll make you some breakfast. You can take it to-go.”

Landon paces on the phone with Indi, the tattletale. “Right? I couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but she went to shower now.”

I get to work in the kitchen. The egg whites fold perfectly around a slice of Havarti, and I lift a fist in victory. For a level placement, I lower to counter height, sliding it off to the center of a lightly toasted English muffin, like a kitchen scientist. I wrap it up in foil and put it in a brown paper bag, rolling over the top for easy carrying.

Easy carrying? Since when have I wanted to make Gabe’s life easy?

I unravel it but can’t get myself to crumple it. That’d be rude. I neaten it just as she gets to the island.

Fletch has resumed the form of a seated couch statue, cheek bulging with more doughnut. Landon cups a hand over his phone and walks toward the outdoor area.

I shake the bag. “Your breakfast sandwich, mademoiselle.”

“Er…”

“A simple egg and cheese. Woulda been a Benny if I had more time.”

Shut it, you dolt. No one cares that you can cook. Least of all, Gabe Finch.

When she reaches to take it from me, I pull it back, and the proximity has the mahogany and teak scent of my soap wafting up from her skin. As if her usual flowery perfume wasn’t intoxicating enough, this is pushing me to the brink.

I must’ve inhaled too audibly because she smirks. “Did you just sniff me? Are you a hair sniffer, Pretty Boy?”

My smug smile matches hers. “What’s up with you using my soap, Freckles? You like smelling like mine?”

Her face blooms with a blush.

Mwahahahahahaha.Yes.

Gabe snatches the bag.

---