Page 140 of American Beauty

“Fine,” I say, padding toward him. “An omelet.”

“Everything but tomatoes?”

He knows me so well. “That sounds good.”

He smirks, victorious, and speaks into the phone again, rattling off the order––the very long order––and I shake my head, smiling.

God, this man can eat.

Breakfast ordered, he pops my favorite coffee pod into the maker. He doesn’t even have to ask anyone how I take it. He knows.

“Thank you.”

“Welcome, babe.”

I wrap my hands around the cup, letting the heat sink into my skin. Reminding me that no matter how messy things are, no matter how much fear tries to root itself inside me, I’m not alone. Not anymore. Not since I met Alexander Björn “The Iron Wall” Sebring III.

I slide onto a stool, tucking my bare feet on the rung beneath it, sipping my coffee. All the while trying to quiet the voice in my head that won’t stop whispering about everything in Charleston.

Breakfast arrives and the scent of bacon and fresh bread fills the space. I lift the lids, surveying the spread, and I can’t help but smile.

Someone went overboard.

“How hungry are you?” I ask over my shoulder, grabbing two plates.

Alex leans on his crutch, watching me with an expression that’s half amused, half fond. “Are you kidding me?”

I laugh, a real one this time, not the kind dragged out by nerves. “Right. Silly question.”

I busy myself plating the food, sliding very generous portions onto his plate. It’s easier to focus on the tangible small tasks—setting forks beside napkins, pouring coffee—than the messier bigger thoughts crowding my mind.

By the time we sit down at the dining table, the mood has shifted. Some of the tightness in Alex’s shoulders has eased, replaced by the slow, familiar rhythm of him eating with single-minded focus.

Food always puts him in a better mood.

“I talked to my family last night while you were sleeping.”

I blink, surprised.

“You did?” I wipe my mouth with the napkin. “I didn’t hear you get up.”

“You were out cold. Your body needed the rest.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Nothing has happened. I spoke with Elias and asked if he could come to the States for a little while.”

I sit up straighter, confused, the words taking a second to sink in. “To be with you while you’re recovering?”

“No, to be with you in Charleston.”

Alex shrugs, like it’s no big deal. Like he didn’t just drop a bomb on me about my life over breakfast.

“Elias said yes. He’s always looking for an excuse to visit. Loves the U.S., and he’s never spent time on the East Coast. He’s excited about it.”

Guilt rises fast and hot, clawing its way up my throat.

“I’m so sorry, Alex. I hate that your brother will have to rearrange his life because of me.”

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