Page 75 of Love Me In Color

“It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. I’ll take care of you, princess.”

He walked over to the back of the kitchen and rummaged through the pantry and the fridge. He started pulling out ingredients. I didn’t recognize what they made together. I stared at him while he got organized, memorizing how his nose scrunched when he counted the containers. I walked to the kitchen and leaned on the island, staring at his muscular forearms as he rolled up his sleeves.

He caged me into the island and ran his knuckle over one of the mascara streaks that ran down my cheek. He easily lifted me and set me on the counter. The kitchen towel draped over his shoulder found its corner under the faucet as he soaked with warm water. He took the waffle fabric to my cheeks and the mascara that stained them.

“What are you doing?” I wrapped my hand around his wrist, stopping him.

He pried my fingers away and kept wiping. “Helping,” he sighed.

He maintained his saddened gaze on my eyes as he wiped away my smudged mascara. This moment was oddly intimate. The lump in my throat grew tenfold with his touch, and I swallowed the new set of tears threatening to undo his work.

“I lied to you,” he said.

My heart dropped. “About what?”

“My fears.” The confusion on my face must have been obvious. “I told you weeks ago that my only fear was not living life. Well, I lied.”

“What’s your other fear?”

“Being like my dad.”

Parker always spoke highly about his family, but as I ran the conversations in my head, his father was seldom mentioned as more than a passing character in a story.

“When I was a kid, he was angry all the time. Our house was a constant battlefield of arguing and fighting between my parents, between my sisters and him, and eventually, between him and me. He got it together when my mom threatened to leave him and take us with her. He’s a great dad and a good man, don’t get me wrong, but he’s not the most pleasant when he gets into one of his moods. Every time I get angry, which happens quite often, I’m worried that I’ll end up like him.”

“Oh, Parker. You’re not him.”

“I know. But I wanted to tell you about him after what happened today. That’s why I have the rubber band. I know you’ve never really asked much about it, but I’ve seen the look in your eyes when I snap it.”

I ran my finger over the rubber sitting flush against his skin.

“I’ll apologize to Erik for shoving him tomorrow once the mere sight of him doesn’t make me want to throw him out the window. But I needed to apologize to you first. I know you care about him, regardless of my burning desire for him to fall into a volcano. But I couldn’t contain myself when he yanked you. I wanted to kill him. You deserve much better than that, both from me and him. I’m sorry, princess.”

“Thanks, I appreciate you not killing him. That would be hard to explain to his mom,” I chuckled slightly. “I wanted to believe that he had changed, but he hasn’t. I loved him once, and he will always be a part of me, but I don’t feel the way I used to for him. Now, I just feel like an idiot for even considering that things could be different.”

“No, Blake,” he pulled me toward him until our chests were merely inches from each other. He stood between my legs. “You’re not an idiot. Far from it. Feelings just make us do crazy things.”

I rested my head on his chest. His heartbeat was pounding.

He was right. Feelings make us do crazy and stupid stuff. They have us believe that things can radically change. They give us the power to face our fears and jump off cliffs. They encourage us to pursue something, even if it involves signing up for a painful ending.

He pulled back from me and finished wiping off the mascara in silence.

“What are you making?” I asked when I was no longer mesmerized by how intensely he looked at my face while he brushed the makeup away.

“Comfort food.”

Like the first day he cooked for me, he moved seamlessly within the kitchen. My parents were not great chefs, so the bar wasn’t set high, but his food was the best.

I watched him season some chicken and bread it. He covered a pan in oil to fry it. While the chicken cooked, he mixed ingredients and pulled out Gabby’s waffle maker. He was making chicken and waffles. The smell of fried chicken crowded the apartment once he was done and set the plates on the table. He pulled the syrup out.

“It’s my favorite comfort food, so I brought you a taste of Texas today.”

“Thank you,” I mumbled through a mouthful of fluffy waffles.

We had been ignoring the elephant in the room. We were set to expire in a couple of weeks. I didn’t know whether we should talk about it or just let it happen, but every time I thought about it, I knew it was a conversation I didn’t want to have.

I looked at him again. I tried to memorize the proud blue of his eyes as he savored his waffle.

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