Page 70 of Every Broken Thing

I jerked it open and squinted against the burning sun. A figure stood before me outlined by sunlight. It took me a moment to focus my gaze enough to recognize golden hair curling at the ends and twinkling blue eyes over a lopsided grin.

“Ugh,” I groaned and rested my temple against the door, “it’s you.”

“Good morning.” Ben’s cheeriness was offensive, and I told him so. He just laughed. “You want to let me in, or would you prefer to keep flashing your dear old neighbor your underwear?”

I blinked lazily as I processed his words before glancing down and realizing, for the first time, I was indeed wearing nothing but my boxers. I grunted like a caveman, glancing over Ben’s shoulder at Mrs. Kalkowski sitting on her front porch swing watching us. She raised an old, wrinkled hand and waved, and I returned the greeting with a wave of my own.

Shuffling to the side, I waved him into the house, and he brushed past me.

“Kitchen?” he asked, and I pointed.

I followed him into my kitchen, rubbing my eyes to alleviate the pain. He rooted through the cupboards and drawers, pulling out a skillet and spatula before heading to the fridge.

“What are you doing?” I asked, voice thick with sleep.

“Do you drink coffee?” he asked, ignoring my question.

“Huh?”

Ben straightened and leaned on the fridge door. “Do you drink coffee?”

“Sometimes,” I said.

“Today’s probably a coffee day,” he declared confidently before diving back in my fridge and rummaging around.

I watched in bewilderment as he moved around my kitchen like he owned the place. He set eggs and milk next to the stove, then moved to the coffeemaker. He searched through a few more cupboards until he found the tin full of ground coffee and added two scoops to the brewer. He dumped the small amount of coffee remaining in the pot down the drain before rinsing and filling it with enough water to make several cups.

“Wait, where’s my dad?” I asked as my lucid thoughts fought my somewhat drunken ones.

“I think he went grocery shopping. I waited until he left to come to the door because I didn’t want you to get busted.” Returning to the counter, Ben explored the other side of the kitchen until he found a medium-sized bowl that he used to mixthe eggs and milk together. As he fired up the stove, he motioned to one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “You wanna sit? You don’t look too good.”

“What—” My voice broke, and I cleared my throat noisily before trying again. “What are you doing?”

As the skillet heated, Ben shredded the cheddar cheese. “Well, you’re technically supposed to be at Kim’s remember? Your truck is there, and I figured you’d need a ride to go pick it up.”

“Okay, but what are you doing?” I said again, and he chuckled.

“I also figured you’d be hungover, so I’m going to make you my favorite hangover food.”

The skillet sizzled as he poured the egg-milk mixture into it, stirring it with the spatula.

“I thought you didn’t drink?”

He pinned me with a pointed stare. “I thought you didn’t, either.”

A blush heated my neck and cheeks as my broken memories flitted through my mind. Oh God, I barely remembered what I did last night, but he did. I couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. Given his cheery mood, I guessed it was bad, definitely bad.

“I don’t drink anymore, but I used to,” he admitted as he continued to scramble the eggs.

“Why’d you stop?”

His fist clenched on the spatula for a moment before he answered. “I promised Aunt June I would.”

Simple and to the point, yet nowhere near enough of an explanation.

With a grunt, I plopped my forehead onto the counter and moaned in distress as my brain punished me for all the tequila.

By the time the coffee pot beeped, Ben was placing a plate of scrambled eggs smothered in melted cheese before me. Mystomach simultaneously rumbled with hunger and nausea, and my fork hovered over the eggs without diving in.

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