Page 40 of Because of Me

Ella’s fingers wrap around my arm, pulling my hand down from where I’m trying to hide my face. “And why exactly is that a bad thing?”

“Because me and feelings do not mix. Have never mixed. I never wanted feelings for anyone. My father is so concerned with me finding a husband that I just, refused for so long. Any time I got close to someone I shoved them away because I didn’t want to prove him right. I didn’t want to be happily married. I wanted to be happily single and watch him cringe over it every time I see him. I loved telling him about whatever woman I was seeing just to see his skin crawl, even if he berated me about my so-called phase. I loved showing him photos of the three guys I went on dates with since the last time I saw him, just to watch his eyebrows pinch together with frustration and confusion. Because how on earth could I be happy if I wasn’t tied down. I’ve hated his expectations on me, but I’ve loved rubbing the fact I ignore them in his face.”

“And now you’re worried you’renotignoring them?”

“Exactly.”

Grabbing her fork, Ella swirls it through spaghetti as we talk. When a small mouthful has gathered in the tines, she brings it tentatively to her mouth. “Is this really as good as you say?”

I nod, and she eats it, crinkles appearing around her eyes as the rich flavour hits her taste buds.

“Damn, that is good.” She brings her fork back to the bowl. “So, you like Noah, and Noah likes you, but you don’t like that you like Noah?”

“It sounds confusing when you say it like that.”

“Because it is.”

After she takes another mouthful of spaghetti, I do the same. We eat in silence for a while, and when the wide bowl is empty, we both lean back in our chairs.

“I think you need to give it a proper chance. Give yourself a proper chance and just see what happens.”

“What if I fuck it all up?”

Ella sticks her hand up and politely waves at the waiter for another bottle of wine. “Look, I’m basing all of this on what I’ve learnt from soppy TV shows and romance novels, but I think that’s the risk you have to be willing to take.”

The dinner rush begins to flow in around us, but it’s not until we’re finishing our second bottle that I begin to think maybe she’s right. And after a third bottle and a second big bowl of pasta, we finally leave the restaurant to find the sun has long since set.

By the time we stumble into the apartment, the lights are off. Kitch skitters around our feet as we take off our shoes and tiptoe down the hall.

“Goodnight,” Ella whispers at the door to her bedroom.

In my own room, Noah has left the bedside lamp on. He lays, breathing heavily, on his side. One arm curled under his head and the other draped across my pillow. My heart flips in my chest and the thought of snuggling up next to him feels … right. I sneak in, shimmying under his arm until he pulls me closer with a deep sigh.

“Goodnight, Cupcake,” he murmurs against the back of my neck.

And instead of taking an age for me to fall asleep, I’m out before I think to turn off the light.

NOAH

The only thing more obnoxious than the giant, bright red, climbing contraption sitting in the corner by the window, is the deep purring that echoes through the room. Kitch is sitting at the very top, soaking in the sun and somehow looking more relaxed than I’ve ever seen her.

Dropping my work bag on the dining table, I shimmy around the couch and scoop her into my arms. For once, she doesn’t immediately tense up. Her body flops against my chest and she continues purring. I feel the reverberations of the sound through my body, soothing me from the inside out. My stomach rumbles. At first, I think it’s just due to the vibration of Kitch’s body, but when it happens again, I’m reminded of how long ago lunch was.

And I notice just how sweet the apartment smells.

My nose and stomach dictate my next few moves. I turn to place Kitch back on the new climbing tree Amira must have ordered, and she leaps from my arms before navigating her way back to the highest platform. Then, my feet shuffle towards the kitchen. There’s nothing on the bench, or in the oven, but Amira’s baking utensils are drying next to the sink. She’s made something, I just can’t tell what. Or where it is.

With every new treat she bakes, she always leaves a little spare for me. And for Ella, I suppose. But my foolhardy heart is convinced itmeanssomething. My brain is constantly trying to convince it otherwise.

All the same, the empty pit in my stomach seems to grow when I realise there is nothing. No tea-towel covered basket on the counter, no sealed containers in the fridge.

“They’re in the pantry.”

Amira’s voice is light and airy, floating toward me as I’m drooped over the counter in defeat. It shouldn’t surprise me, hearing her voice. I saw her car when I parked mine, she called out from the bedroom when I first got back. But somehow the way she speaks feels like honey in my ears. More soothing than Kitch’s gentle purr, more adrenaline-boosting than jumping from a plane. Her mere presence in the room brings me a sense of peace and calm so overwhelming it makes it hard to breathe.

Especially given … well everything.

She’s wearing simple black leggings and an oversized grey T-shirt. It falls loosely from her shoulders, clinging lightly to her breasts before draping over her waist and hips. Once, she asked me not to stare, but honestly, I can’t help it. She pops her hip with a smirk, and I let out a small puff of a laugh at just how done for I am.

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