Page 45 of Pulse
“Goodbye.”
I end the call and set my phone on the counter beside the spoon. The edge of the phone smacks the end of the utensil, sending the dirty spoon flying through the air and smacking me in the side.
I look down to see red streaked down my shirt.
“Dammit,” I mumble, stripping the fabric off and setting it next to the sink. Just as I reach for the dish soap, movement catches my eye.
Dahlia comes down the stairs, yawning.
My God.
Her hair’s a mess. Her eyes are swollen. A crease is indented on the side of her cheek from how she lay in bed.
And I’ve never seen herthisbeautiful.
My heart skips a beat as I look at her, drinking her in as she stands at the base of the stairs.
I search her face, desperate to commit this to memory—the way she looksandthe way it feels to be here with her right now.
Her gaze drags down my shoulders, over my chest, and across my abs. My skin tingles from the contactless contact. I itch to grab her, hold her, bury my face in her hair, and breathe her in.
But I don’t. I can’t. That would be stupid.
A soft smile graces her plump lips. It does things to me that I don’t want to acknowledge. It makes my mind go places that aren’t safe.
What have I gotten myself into?
“I smelled food,” she says softly, walking to me.
“I was starving and thought you must be, too.”
She holds a hand on her stomach. “Can you hear that? It’s growling.”
“Good thing I cooked, then.”
She’s surprised. “I didn’t know you knew how to cook.”
“There are lots of things about me that you don’t know,” I say.
She sits at a barstool across from me and yawns again. “You’re right. I don’t. Let’s fix that.”
“You just woke up. How about we eat before you start grilling me?”
“One thing about me that you might not know is that I’m a great multitasker.” She smiles. “I can do two things at once.”
I hum.
“What did you make?” she asks.
“It’s just pasta and sauce. Both from a box or a can, so don’t have super high expectations.”
“Is there a way without using a box or a can?”
I slow blink. “Yes. You can make both from scratch.”
She gapes. “You’re telling me you know how to make pasta and sauce from scratch?”
“It’s really not that hard.”
