Page 43 of Fractured
He stood there, holding a... wait... was that a cake plate?
I stepped to the side so he could come in.
He did so, then I closed the door, and watched as he set the cake plate on the countertop, then he sniffed the air, he looked over his shoulder, “What is that?”
I shrugged, “Why are you here, Dom?”
I caught it, his flinch.
What the hell?
He inhaled a breath, then he said, “Because I fucked up. Shouldn’t have. Should have made time for you like you do for me.”
Then he said, “Why didn’t you tell me it was you who took care of me when I was sick?”
I shrugged, “Why tell you?”
He glared, “Because I looked like an asshole thanking everyone and not the right person.”
I didn’t reply; instead, I lifted my chin to the cake plate, “What is that?”
He opened the lid, then showed me, and I gasped.
Sitting on the cake plate was a strawberry cake, my favorite.
“Took me a little bit, but I made it. Strawberries suck.”
I got what they were all doing just then.
They were all doing stuff they didn’t like to apologize just like I did.
To show me that they were sorry. I would take it.
Then I looked at the bag of stuff and said, “And that?”
He looked at all of it on the counter, then he looked at me, “You know how much I hate shopping. And I’ve never stepped foot in the mall. I got hives from it.”
I chuckled.
Then I sighed, “Have you eaten?”
He winked, then he shook his head.
I tilted my head to the pasta and garlic bread, “Make your plate.”
He winked, then did just that.
I sat down in my chair and waited until he joined me.
He set his plate down and then winked, “Thanks.”
I nodded and then started eating.
When I moaned, I missed the way he shifted in his chair.
And when I moved my tongue to capture an onion slice that was dangling off my fork, I missed his sharp inhale of breath... well.... damn.
We had finished eating, and he gestured to the living room, “Go cue your movie up.”
