Just a Hair Stylist - Chris Evans story \\✔️

Chapter thirty-three

You snaked the streets, maybe taking a yellow light or two that you probably should have stopped

for. But the wait at Starbucks was a bit longer than you hoped and you were cutting it close. You

pulled up in front of Chris' house, balancing your coffee on top of his and using your chin to hold

them down together. The paper bags of warm breakfast sandwiches and scones in your other hand

crinkled when you pressed the call button on his gate and you pushed the Starbucks logo in front of

the camera lense to fill the frame. The lock clicked open a few moments later and you bumped the

gate open with your hip.

When Chris opened the front door to greet you, you held up a cup of coffee in each hand in front of

you, proudly telling him, "Honey, I made breakfast."

His decidedly tired, and almost blank, expression was replaced by a weak smile and

dishearteningly quiet laugh as he waved you in. There was no kiss at the door, like there usually

was, not even at your cheek. He trudged behind you into the kitchen. You dropped your keys out of

your palm and set down your coffee and the sandwiches. You handed Chris his drink, as he eased

half onto a barstool and smiled his thanks.

His hair was still damp and you asked, "Did a shower help?"

Chris nodded, while he let a sip of coffee sit on his tongue a moment. "Little bit."

You unfolded the first of your paper to-go bags, sliding the sandwiches out onto the counter.

"Reduced fat turkey bacon," you offered, peeking inside the wrappers, "or sausage, cheddar, and

egg?" He reached out a hand for the one with sausage and you handed it over, adding, "And then

blueberry, cranberry orange, or one of each?"

"Blueberry," he said, after quick consideration and another drink of coffee.

You were already taking down a pair of small plates. Back at the island, you opened the next bag

of food and took out a blueberry scone to put on a dish for Chris. You set it down in front of him,

while his hands were occupied by his sandwich. You picked out one of the cranberry and orange

ones for yourself, rolling the top of the bag down again and setting it aside for later.

"They were a little picked over in the bakery," you apologized. "But there's another one of each if

you're still hungry."

"Thanks," Chris said. "You didn't have to do all that."

While Chris drank his coffee, you picked off a little bite of your scone. "Did you eat anything this

morning?" you asked, popping a piece of scone in your mouth. He shook his head and you

shrugged. "Well, then someone had to feed you. God. Look at you," you complained, gesturing a

hand out at him. "You're just wasting away. Ya look awful."

"Thanks," he snorted. "You sure know how to make a guy feel better."

You snickered around the bite of sandwich you'd just taken, walking over to hug your arms around

his neck. Chris hooked his arm around your waist, pulling you against his side for a squeeze, as