Page 28 of Finding Noah
Where does that leave me?
I scraped the bones from the delicious meal into the compost and then headed to bed.
In the morning, I had fewer answers and more questions.
Christian, ever the chipper morning person, sat at the kitchen table, Stormy loyally at his feet, while eating eggs, whole-wheat toast, strawberry jam, fresh orange juice, and coffee.
I headed to the pot, snagged my extra-large mug from the cupboard and poured a massive cup of java.
Finally, he gazed at me. “Can I make you some breakfast? I can make an omelet, some toast, and maybe fry up some bacon.”
“I’m good.”
He scowled. He never approved of me mainlining caffeine rather than having a nutritious breakfast.
“I can get my own food.” I cleared my throat. “But thank you for the offer.”
“At least a piece of toast with some peanut butter? Protein to carry you through until you eat a full meal?”
This was a debate we had every morning. And every morning I relented. I snagged the white bread and put two slices in the toaster oven. When I went to grab the peanut butter from the shelf, however, I discovered the jar was already on the table. Because of course it was—he knew I’d give in and have the protein he carried on about.
As soon as the toast popped up, I plated it and headed to the kitchen table. I sat in my regular spot—right across from him.
I sipped my coffee.
Just do it. Rip off the bandage. Put everything on the table. Let the chips fall where they may.
I was certain I could come up with more trite expressions, but none were forthcoming. Finally, I slid my knife through the butter and applied the slab to my toast. Way more than I needed—which always pissed off Christian.
He’s worried about your cholesterol. At least someone is.
Yeah, I didn’t care, and neither had my mother.
She wasn’t a bad mother…just inattentive. She left me alone with my animals. She could’ve forbidden them, so that was something.
Next, I slathered the peanut butter. The crunchy kind—which was my favorite. And we always had some in the house, even though Christian preferred smooth.
Guilt gnawed at my gut. He did so damn much for me, and I didn’t show nearly enough appreciation. Still, he’d overstepped yesterday, and we needed to hash this out. “Why’d you do it?”
He looked up—his startled gaze meeting mine. He swallowed, looked away, then looked back. “Because I love you.”
I shook my head. “What?”
His green eyes didn’t flicker.
“What are you talking about?”
“I love you.” He ate a forkful of eggs.
I sighed. “I love you too, but you destroyed my relationship.” I eyed my toast. “Yes, Leroy was cheating. We always used protection—”I was pretty sure.“—and we were doing okay. I mean…” Except I didn’t condone cheating. That’s why I’d left his sorry ass—and Tennessee—behind.
“No, I mean I'min lovewith you.” He took a bite of his toast.
A drop of strawberry jam dropped onto his plate.
If that had been me, it would’ve landed either on the table, or more likely, my shirt.
I repeated his words in my mind. He said it casually—as if he hadn’t just dropped a nuclear bomb on my world. Yet…maybe I’d misunderstood. “But you're straight.” Because that would change the equation…right?
