Page 25 of Bad at Love

“Vanilla.”

“Vanilla is good.”

“Pinch of salt. Dash of cinnamon.”

“Sounds delicious.”

My mouth opens as I look at him, our noses almost touching, but I don’t know what to say. I have no words. I answered his question, yet itfeelslike I’m supposed to say something.

The coffee machine beeps, letting us know the cup is finished brewing. Storm holds my stare for just a second longer before turning and going to his coffee.

“How long until it’s done?” he asks, tone perfectly normal.

What the…

Looking down at the pan, I give them another flip. They’re the right color, so I add them to the plate.

“You can have this one.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm. Yep.” I slide the plate across the counter, then focus on cooking the rest of the French Toast so I can eat and leave. I’m already running off schedule because I’m taking too long to cook. A few minutes later, the next batch is done. I plate them and take it to the table, but stop short. Storm is sitting there, his food in front of him, and he’s scrolling on his phone.

“Is something wrong with it?”

He looks up at me without moving his head. “Wrong?”

“The food. You haven’t eaten.”

“I was waiting for you.” He smiles at me and it throws me for a loop. “Are you going to come sit?”

“Yeah, I am.” I shake out of it and sit. Why is he being so weird this morning? It’s not normal. Not right. What’s even worse is the way it’s bothering me. My whole day is going to be ruined because of this.

Once I sit, Storm puts his phone down and digs into his food. He continuously makes soft moaning sounds, thoroughly enjoying his food. I should make this more often.

No. No, I should not. Make food to hear him moan? That’s insane. Crazy. I can’t think of things like that. It’s just not right.

I quickly finish eating, wash my plate, and hurry out of the kitchen. I grab my things and head for the door, wondering if I’m going to come back to his breakfast dishes in the sink or if he’ll be nice enough to wash them. Usually I do them before I leave, so I can have a clear mind about it. Hopefully this won’t bother me all day…

“Have a good day at work!” he calls out as I step onto the porch. I stumble.

“Th-thanks!” I call back before hurrying to my car.

“He’s making me uncomfortable, Marta.”

“Because he’s being nice? Gabriel, what is wrong with you?”

I shake my head. “Too many things.”

“You know that’s not what I meant. It was rhetorical.”

“You know I hate rhetorical questions.” I sigh, picking up my sandwich and taking a bite. The tomato is a little too mushy for my likings, but the last time I complained about that to the kitchen, they laughed in my face.

“I don’t understand why you have to keep complaining about him. It’s okay to like him, you know.”

“I don’t like him,” I say quickly. Too quickly, it seems, because Marta eyes me carefully. “I just mean we aren’t friends. I don’t want to be friends with him. We live together because he’s helping with the rent—that’s it.”

“Right. Helping with the rent. I get it.”

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