Page 62 of All Her Broken Pieces

When I emerge from my room several hours later, Ethan has dinner ready.

It’s like he knows my taste buds better than I do. Everything this man has cooked has been like heaven in my mouth. Tonight, he made pecan-crusted salmon and a light salad in a raspberry vinaigrette. While I’m not normally big on fish or seafood, I gobble up every crumb on my plate.

Ethan clears the table, puts our plates in the dishwasher, and starts the machine before putting the leftovers away. “There’s an extra filet if you want that for lunch tomorrow. I picked up a shift at the restaurant. Mina and Dre are out this week, and Alyx asked me to cover for him.”

I can feel the disappointment instantly; it tastes bitter as I swallow and attempt to clear it. “Oh” is all I can squeak out.

“Set the oven to two hundred and seventy-five degrees and pop it in there for about ten to fifteen minutes. You’ll want to put it on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Think you can handle that?”

“Yeah, I can handle it. I’m not completely inept in the kitchen,” I snap back.

“Whoa, hellcat, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m used to walking my sisters through instructions several times and…”

“It’s fine.” It’s not fine. I don’t know why I’m suddenly snapping at him. I know he didn’t mean to imply I couldn’t reheat something. His tone was fine, he just… Fuck. I think I’m starting to like him being around, and finding out he won’t be here tomorrow has me spiraling.

“I have five sisters. I know when a woman says something is fine, it most definitely is not fine.”

Deciding to put it out there—because what can it hurt—I take a deep breath and admit, “I was just counting on you being around tomorrow, and I guess I’m annoyed.”

He grins. “I’m growing on you, am I?”

“Maybe.”

“Was that so hard?”

Yes. Yes, it was fucking hard. I don’t let people in. I don’t tell them how I feel, and I just told him how his absence affected me. My chest feels warm and tight at the same time, and I clutch at it, pushing my palm to it in hopes of easing the ache.

“Thank you,” I rasp out, still holding my chest.

“For what, sweetheart?”

“For my gift. For dinner. For your help, even when I insisted I didn’t need it. You’ve made this recovery easier on me, and you deserve to know that I appreciate it.”

“I’m happy to help. Now, excuse me while I slip into something more comfortable and put my mask on.”

In a less than a month’s time, Ethan has quickly become one of my closest friends. I enjoy spending time with him. He makes me laugh and he calls me out, holding me accountable. His personality balances mine in ways I never expected. And the way he reads me is equally unnerving and exhilarating at the same time. I like that I don’t have to be someone I’m not around him. I don’t have to hide the parts of myself that the world deems unpalatable. And all that scares me. But I’m starting to think that only being friends isn’t possible. Maybe we could be more.

Just as my revelation reignites that ache in my chest, Ethan emerges with the puppy mask on his face and a huge smile.

“Of course you’d pick that one, pup. I should’ve known.”

He laughs as he settles onto the couch next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Can’t disappoint my hellcat.”

CHAPTER20

Bridget

Each day,the pain in my abdomen lessens, and I start to feel more and more like my pre-surgery self. Working from home has been an adjustment; I’m back to my normal workload, but I feel more productive without all the interruptions that come from working in an office.

Ethan and I have settled into a comfortable cadence. At this point, he spends more nights in my bed than on the couch, and his stuff is slowly infiltrating my space and closet. I felt bad that he was still living out of his overnight bag, so I figured if I’d agreed to let him stay the whole six weeks, the least I could do is let him unpack.

The utensils and gadgets he’s added to my kitchen are foreign to me, but I’m not complaining if they help him prepare the gourmet meals he’s been making. He’s still mostly doing lunch shifts, but he’s picked up a few dinner services, and that means that tonight I have my place to myself.

Well, not entirely to myself. Becka is joining me. We’ve texted a bit since she got back in town a few weeks ago. While it wasn’t my intention to keep anything from her, I realized how my lie of omission hurt her, and I’ve been trying to work back into her good graces. Tonight is a chance to make things right and show her how much she means to me.

I’ve ordered pizza for us, so when there’s a knock on the door, I’m expecting it to be the delivery person, but Becka is there, pizza in hand.

“The delivery guy followed me up here, so I told him I’d take it. I tipped him well, so you’re welcome.” She walks past me and into the kitchen.

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