Page 48 of Dean

Fuck, but doesn’t he know? I want him to impose. All the time.

“It was fine. I’m just glad you’re okay this morning.”

He turns his gaze back to the eggs in the pan. “If that’s what you think this is, then yeah, guess I’m okay.”

“Come on. Let me finish the eggs. Sit down.”

He reluctantly lets go of the spatula, taking his tea with him and sitting at the kitchen table with a low moan.

“God, my feet hurt. Good thing I didn’t wear my heels last night.”

I turn to look at him, and he blushes.

“I mean…other shoes. Not heels. Ugh, forget I said that.”

“You can wear heels, Avery,” I say. “If that’s what you like.”

He stares at me, blinking furiously.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. If that’s what you want to wear, you should. No one will say shit. I promise you that.”

He bows his head and sniffles and then sips on his tea sloppily.

“Okay. Thank you.”

I nod and turn back to the eggs, which are slightly brown now, but I tried. It’s the thought that counts. That’s what Elaine always said. I never was a good cook, never really cared about food enough to learn.

I scrape the brown eggs onto a plate and grab the toast, buttering it and setting it before him.

He won’t meet my gaze, and fuck, I have to fist my hands so I don’t reach out and touch him.

I want to though. I really fucking do.

“The eggs aren’t yellow,” he murmurs, his voice a little choked.

“I burned them. A little.”

He snorts and scoops some into his mouth. “They’re really good.”

“They better be. A Dean special.”

He peers up at me, his eyes red-rimmed and shining.

“I love them.”

“Liar.”

He huffs a small laugh. “Maybe just a little.”

We grin at each other and his knees hit mine. But I don’t move away, I just let them rest there while we eat breakfast.

And when we drive to work together, I may put my arm across the back of his seat. Not touching, but there. Just inches away.

“Party hard last night?” Cash asks me, and I side-eye him. It was not a party. It was torture.

“Avery did.”

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