Page 55 of Cold Front
Her brows lifted. “And?”
“And it wasn’t nothing.” The words felt heavy saying them out loud. “But I don’t know what it was, either.”
Cheyenne studied me for a beat. “Do you want it to be something?”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. “I don’t know.”
She nodded as if that made perfect sense. “Okay. What’s stopping you?”
I swallowed. “I just got out of a toxic relationship, Chey. The last thing I need is to get caught up in something that could potentially not be worth the effort.”
She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “Do you think he’d hurt you?”
“No.” The answer came too fast, certain. I trusted Niall. Even when he was grumpy and closed off, he wasn’t cruel. At least, I didn’t think so.
“Then what are you scared of?”
I hesitated. “I don’t want to be an experiment.”
Cheyenne’s face softened. “Did he say that’s what this was?”
“No,” I admitted. “But he’s never—he’s never done this before. Never been with a guy… I think.”
She nodded. “So you’re afraid he’ll freak out, push you away?”
I exhaled. “Yeah.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
That was the real question, wasn’t it? If Niall didn’t push me away—if this was real—was I ready for that?
She let me sit with that for a second before speaking again. “I can’t tell you what to do, Eli. But I know you. You’re careful with your heart. You don’t hand it out to just anyone.” She gave me a small smile. “If you think he’s worth it, maybe it’s okay to take a chance.”
I stared at the screen, at my sister, who always knew exactly what to say. My heart still felt tangled, but some of the knots had loosened.
“Thanks, Chey.”
She winked. “Anytime, bro.”
As I ended the call, I lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. My thoughts were still a mess, my heart still unsteady. But for the first time since that kiss, I felt like I could breathe.
* * *
Hunger hit out of nowhere, a low, persistent gnawing in my stomach that made me realize I hadn’t eaten since lunch. It figured. Between classes, coming home, getting invited into Niall’s room, and then—yeah. That happened. Afterward, I’d come straight in here and spiraled for an hour before calling home. No wonder I was starving.
I blew out a breath and pushed off the bed. Staying in here wouldn’t magically make food appear, and I refused to let whatever was going on between me and Niall dictate my basic needs. If he was out there, I’d deal with it. I had to eat.
The kitchen was quiet when I stepped in; the lights dim, except for the glow from the stovetop. I grabbed ingredients from the fridge, settling on something easy—chicken and rice, with some sautéed veggies on the side. Simple, comforting, something I could focus on.
Cooking had always grounded me. There was something methodical about it, the way each step built on the last. I minced fresh garlic and ginger, the sharp scent clinging to my fingertips as I worked. A squeeze of lime, a drizzle of olive oil—enough to help the seasonings stick. I sprinkled in some salt, cracked black pepper, smoked paprika, a dash of cumin for warmth, and a little cayenne for heat. Then I added a spoonful of honey, rubbing everything in until the chicken glistened, deep and fragrant. When it hit the pan, the sizzle filled the kitchen, rich and savory. As it browned, I turned my attention to the vegetables. The rhythmic scrape of my knife against the cutting board, the soft pop of oil, the steam rising from the rice cooker—it was a kind of quiet I could handle.
I was about to plate my food when the front door opened. Heavy footsteps, followed by the faint rustle of a bag being set down. I turned just as Niall walked in.
God, he looked so fucking good. Freshly showered, with damp strands of hair curling at his temples. He wore a hoodie, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, and sweats that hung low on his hips. His face was unreadable, but there was something about the way he carried himself—more reserved than usual, a little stiff around the shoulders.
“Hey,” he said, his voice low.
I swallowed. “Hey,” I said, suddenly unsure of what to say. Silence settled between us, thick and awkward. I turned back to my food, scooping rice onto a plate. Then, before I could think better of it, I blurted, “You hungry?”
