Kara "What do you think? Does this taste better?" I rested my elbow on the counter, propping my chin on my palm as I watched Dylan chew like a goat in therapy. He put the bowl down, chewed some more. I woke up at five in the morning to start cooking, woke Dylan up to taste it. It was still dark outside, and the snow was falling in heavy and fast. The streetlights outside flickered ominously. Was that a sign of something coming? Jesus. Stop thinking too much. Dylan swallowed the food hard, wincing. I heard the sound as it went down his esophagus. "It's better than the last one." "Really?" I clapped. "Awesome!" "Well, the other one before tastes like cardboard, right?" "Uh-huh. Says you." "And now this one..." I tried not to let him know how badly I wanted to hear what he was going to say. I turned my back, busied myself at the stove. "Tastes like flavored cardboard." The spoon plopped in the pot. I raised my hands in surrender. "Should I just give up?" "I thought you want to cook this for Cameron since it's your first Christmas together." My nose twitched as I sniffed the veggie stew in the pot. It smelled like roasted socks. "Yeah, you're forgetting I never cook." "You are now. Keep going. You got this, Kar. Insert encouraging noises and praises." He scratched his head, yawning. "Okay, now can I go back to sleep?" "No! I need you to be my taste tester," I said, almost in a panic. What have I done? I shouldn't have taken the colossal task of cooking the Christmas Eve dinner. I had been practicing for a week and I was not even close to how the recipe should taste. "Aw, Kar," Dylan whined. "I feel like a fat whale. I'm supposed to have a six pack by now. That was my last year's new year resolution and the year before that, and the year before that. And next year it will be again. It's been going on for years and I don't see a shadow of abs. Do you?" He patted his small round belly. "It's an ab. One big ab." "Will you stop body shaming yourself, please?" "Aw, man. When you start saying big words like that, I get scared. I'm texting Damon. He should be up by now." "He's not. I already woke him up. He went back to sleep and turned his phone off." Dylan should take over the cooking, like usual. I had tried to reach the impossible dream, and my arms weren't long enough. "What am I doing wrong, Dyl?" "Did you follow the recipe?" "Of course, I did." "Sometimes you think you are, but you're doing something wrong. Why else would it taste like this?" I wanted to slap his chin. "Maybe the recipe is wrong," I said hopefully. He sent me a wry look. "Maybe you're adding too much of the ingredients. Or you're not cooking it long enough. Or it could be the other way around. You need patience and a lot of effort if you want to make something good." Why did it sound like he was talking about something else? Maybe it was just me. Last night, Cameron had been quiet and distant after his phone call. He had shut down and wouldn't speak a single word about what was bothering him. It was hard, so hard to be patient and give him space to be alone with his thoughts, but I knew that was what he needed. When I was the one hurting and lashing out, Cameron had been so patient and caring with me. I wanted to do the same. People don't change overnight. His go-to response was to lick his wounds alone, away from everyone. He was like a wild animal that way, wasn't he? Solitary in his own pain. But I reminded myself that if he had told me about the most painful memory he had in his childhood that he had never spoken about to anyone before, then he would tell me what was bothering him now too. Eventually. Like Dylan said, I needed patience and a lot of effort to cook something good. It was excruciatingly painful to wait. I was never a patient human being to begin with. I wanted to know what was wrong, wanted to comfort him, wanted to see if I can help make it better. Wanted him to share his pain with me. But my love for him was stronger than my own needs. Wow. I should write that down on a t-shirt or something. "Maybe I should take over," Dylan said. "No. I got this." I washed the pot, the chopping board, the knives. The sink was full of dishes I had used to cook, but the counter was still empty of food. I glanced at the clock. It was already seven a.m. I had asked Dad to sleep in my bedroom so he wouldn't wake up while I cooked. He'd been up all night working on the vehicles in the shop. Ever since Rick brought his trucks in for service, business had been booming. We had to hire two more mechanics to keep up with the jobs. Other people had started to notice, and word was spreading how Hawthorne Auto Repair Shop was the place to go. We were in a perfect place to start the new year and I was happy. Really, I was. I glanced at my phone when it vibrated. My Bigfoot: Can I come over? What? I thought you have work? My Bigfoot: I'm in front of your house. What? "Shit. Shit. Dylan, how do I look right now?" "Like you need a shower." "Damnit." I took my glasses off. Where the hell did I put my damn contacts? "Why are you panicking? Should I panic too? What's going on?" "Cameron is outside." "Outside? Outside where?" "I'm going to the bathroom quickly to brush my teeth. Open the door! Now!" "But I want to look good for Cameron too. Let me go in first! It'll only take me two minutes to—" I closed the bathroom door in his face. "Dylan, open the front door or you will not bear children for eternity." I heard him stomp away, grumbling under his breath. He should get his own lover, to be honest. Why would he want to look good for my Cameron when Cameron only has his eyes for me? Right? Cameron still only has his eyes for me. No matter what happened last night. My heart knocked against my chest as I quickly brushed my teeth, then my hair. A little mascara, maybe lipstick? Too much. Peach lip gloss, it is. I was just about to remove my eyeglasses so I could put my contacts when Dylan tapped the door. "Kara, Cameron is here and he's about to eat your—" "No!" I burst out of the bathroom, saw Cameron sitting on one of the barstools at the kitchen island serving as our dining table. And he was about to eat a spoonful of my unique creation. "Stop! No!" The spoon was a few inches away from his mouth when he stopped, turned his head to glance at me. That gave me time to bounce on his lap, grab the spoon and place it back in the bowl, push it far, far, far away. His arms readily embraced me, wrapping around my waist. He laughed, the sound making my heart sing. "Good morning, Spitfire." "Yeah, you're not allowed to eat that, Bigfoot." "What am I allowed to eat?" he whispered in my ear. "Let me think," I said, breathless. I wrapped my arms around his neck, giggled when he playfully bit my chin. My glasses were about to fall off. "Kara!" I turned to Dylan's voice and heard the snap of the camera in his phone. "Merry Christmas," Dylan said, grinning. "Technically not until tomorrow, but we're not going to focus on that, right?" He gestured toward the tree. "Cameron brought presents. He placed them under the tree." I adjusted my glasses. "What? More presents?" "I wanted to bring them now so they can be under your tree and you can open them if you want." I felt soft. "Is this your apology from last night?" "Yeah." I saw the sincerity in his blue eyes, the sadness that still lingered. "You feel better this morning?" "Now that I see you." "I'm going back to bed," Dylan said, waving to Cameron. Cameron gave him a smile and a brotherly nod. "Did you cancel your plans?" I asked. "I did." He looked happy about it. "Where's your dad?" "He's sleeping in my bedroom. I didn't want him to wake up while I'm cooking up a storm." He grinned, shifted me so that I was straddling him instead. I propped my arms on his shoulders, playing with his dark, silky hair. He looked so beautiful, broodingly so. "You're cooking?" "It's our first Christmas together." "Should I get the fire extinguisher?" "Mean!" "I'm kidding. I'm kidding!" he said, laughing quietly when I started to pinch his side. "I like whatever it is already." "It's pretty bad though." "I don't care. I'll eat it." I tilted my head, studying him. "You're being awfully good today." "I was being awfully bad last night." "Then you need to be punished." He raised a brow. "Care to tell me how?" "My dad is sleeping just right there, Mr. Horny Pants." "You want me to behave?" "You can be bad tonight. When we go to my place." He sucked his bottom lip in his mouth. "Are you sure you want to make that deal with me?" "Why not?" His eyes grew heavy, darkened, deepened. "Be ready for me then," he murmured. "Kara." My heart slammed against my chest. He leaned closer. I swallowed loudly. He was mesmerizing. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "About last night." "I get it." "The last thing I want is to hurt you." "I know." "I need some time to...think about things alone." "I know that." "It still hurts you." I shrugged, feeling a lump in my throat. "What can I do?" he asked softly. "Talk to me." "Wait for me." "Deal." "I have to go now." "I'll see you later. Come early." "As soon as I can." "I..." He held my face in his large hands, thumbs caressing my cheeks, my jaw, my lips. His fingers stroked down my neck, my shoulders. Then he held my hand, brought it to his lips and kissed my palm. "Kiss me before I go, Kara." Cameron's lips were warm and soft, and he let me take control, receiving than taking, accepting than giving. His hands rested on my lower back, pulling me to him as our mouths slid over each other. I could feel his desire, his yearning for me, and his control. And I knew he felt mine too. When we pulled away, he rested his forehead against mine. "I don't want to go." "I'll wait for you." He shifted me, helping me to my feet as he rose, kissed me again at the door. "See you later, Spitfire." Then he was gone.