Chapter 146
Emily's POV
The next morning, Alex left for work early. I woke up to the sound of him moving around the bedroom, getting dressed in the dim pre-dawn light, and when I cracked one eye open he was already buttoning his shirt and reaching for his tie.
"What time is it?" I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep.
"Six," he said, glancing over at me. "Go back to sleep. I've got a meeting."
I should've said something. Should've told him to have a good day or asked when he'd be home or any of the dozen other things normal people said to their—whatever he was. Boyfriend didn't feel right anymore, not with two other people in the picture. Partner, maybe. Except that didn't feel right either.
But I was too tired to figure out relationship semantics, so I just made a vague sound of acknowledgment and let my eyes drift shut again.
I felt him lean down and press a kiss to my forehead, and then he was gone.
When I woke up again a few hours later, the apartment was quiet except for the faint sound of movement from the kitchen. I pulled on a robe and padded out to find Mason standing at the stove, stirring something in a pan while the coffee maker burbled in the background.
He looked up when I came in, and his whole face brightened in a way that made my chest ache.
"Morning," he said. "I made coffee. And eggs. If you want."
"I want," I said, sliding onto one of the barstools and accepting the mug he pushed across the counter toward me. "You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep." He turned back to the stove and flipped something in the pan—scrambled eggs, I realized, with cheese and what looked like fresh herbs. "Thought I'd make breakfast."
"You don't have to—"
"I know," he said quickly. "But I wanted to."
I sipped my coffee and watched him work, and something about the domestic simplicity of it—the morning light filtering through the kitchen window, the smell of eggs and coffee, Mason's careful focus as he plated the food—made me feel settled in a way I hadn't felt in a long time.
He set a plate in front of me and then hesitated, his hand hovering near the counter.
"Are you eating?" I asked.
"I wasn't sure if—"
"Sit," I said, and I pointed at the stool next to me. "Eat with me."
He did, and we ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The eggs were good—perfectly seasoned, fluffy, better than anything I would've managed on my own—and I told him so.
"Thanks," he said, and this time he didn't deflect or minimize it. Just accepted the compliment like maybe he was starting to believe he deserved it.
I was almost finished when he spoke again, his voice careful.
"Are you going to work today?"
"Yeah," I said. "I've got a meeting at ten and then I need to check in on the restaurant. Why?"
"I was thinking—" He stopped, his hand tightening around his fork. "Maybe I could come with you? I could help out at the restaurant. Do prep work or something. I wouldn't get in the way."
I set down my own fork and turned to look at him. His expression was hopeful and anxious in equal measure, and I could see the desperation underneath it—the need to prove himself, to be useful, to earn his place here.
"Mason," I said gently. "You don't need to do that."
"But I want to help."
"You are helping." I reached over and covered his hand with mine. "You're doing exactly what I need you to do. And I need you here, not at the restaurant."
"But—"
"Remember what we talked about last night?" I said. "About you staying here and making food and taking care of things?"
He nodded, but he still looked uncertain.
"That's what I need from you," I said. "Not you following me to work and trying to prove you're useful. Just you being here. So when I come home tonight, I don't have to think about what to make for dinner. I can just come home, and you'll have it handled. That's what would make me happy. Okay?"
He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching my face like he was trying to figure out if I meant it.
"Okay," he said finally. "If that's really what you want."
"It is."
I squeezed his hand once more before I let go, and when I stood up to take my plate to the sink, he didn't try to take it from me. Just watched me with that same careful, hopeful expression.
I got ready for work after that—showered, dressed, grabbed my bag—and when I came back out to the living room, Mason was cleaning up the kitchen. He looked up when I appeared, and I saw the question in his eyes before he asked it.
"You'll be back tonight?"
"Yeah," I said. "Probably around six."
"Okay." He nodded, and then, quieter: "I'll make dinner."
"I know you will."
I almost left it at that. Almost walked out the door without saying anything else. But something made me stop, made me cross back to where he was standing and pull him into a hug.
He went stiff for half a second—surprised, maybe, or uncertain—but then his arms came around me and he held on like he was afraid I'd disappear if he let go.
"You're going to be fine," I said against his shoulder. "I promise."
"Okay," he whispered. "Okay."
I pulled back and gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile, and then I was out the door and heading to my car.