OUR BROKEN BEGINNINGS

CHAPTER EIGHT

My eyes cracked open just as the sun rose, pinks and oranges filling the sky. I pulled the covers back and realized I had fallen asleep in my jeans.

What a psycho, my subconscious cringed. I quickly changed into a pair of black leggings with a black tank top, brushed my teeth, made the bed, and redid my ponytail.

The kitchen was empty; no shirtless man making avocado toast. To my relief and slight disappointment. I woke him up early yesterday, so I decided to let him sleep in while I made breakfast. Trying to be as quiet as possible, I opened the fridge and pulled out the eggs, turkey, green and red peppers, and butter. The pots and pans were placed in a cabinet under the counter, next to the sink.

Once I finished making the eggs, I grabbed two plates from the rack in the sink and poured more on one than the other. As soon as the plates were across from each other, one of the doors leading to the backyard in the family room opened. I jumped out of my body for a second. Emerson strolled in casually, wearing a well-fitting dark gray Dri-Fit shirt and black athletic shorts as if he hadn't just scared the shit out of me.

"What are you doing?" I asked with a startled gasp.

He looked around and said, "Walking..."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, I know that, but why aren't you in bed?"

An entertained smile spread on his lips, "Am I supposed to be?"

He walked toward the side of the island I was standing on. When he reached me, he leaned over, and his breath brushed my face as he grabbed the plate of eggs. Then, he sat on the stool next to the one I sat on yesterday morning.

I gave him an exasperated look and said, "Well, yeah! You didn't say you were going out."

Emerson picked up the fork before replying, "I didn't go out. I was in the backyard working out. Besides, I didn't want to wake you."

I didn't remember seeing a gym, but maybe I didn't get to see everything.

My forearms came up and rested on the counter. "Okay, fine. That's fair." His eyes went down to the plate in front of him, and he shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

"Next time I leave the house, for whatever reason, I'll let you know," he said with a mouthful. His smile turned into a smirk as he said, "You made me eggs."

I waved him off and turned toward the stove to grab the pan, also trying to hide the blush on my cheeks. "Yeah, well, you made me avocado toast yesterday, so now we're even," I said casually.

He continued eating and said, "Well, they're delicious. Leave the dishes; I'll wash them."

My hand waved him off again. "Emerson, it's fine. Don't worry about it." The water instantly soaked my skin as I worked to scrub the pan clean. A throat cleared behind me, and I looked over my shoulder. Emerson was looking at me with raised eyebrows and a faint smile. His voice was smooth as he purred, "Cassandra. I did say to leave those dishes, didn't I?"

My hands didn't stop scrubbing at the pan, even as my eyes met his. "I don't take well to being ordered around, Em. Try asking nicely; maybe it will sway me."

He either chuckled at the nickname I decided to tease him with or my words in general. I didn't understand this constant battle between us, but I couldn't say I hated it. It gave me something to focus on rather than all my other swarming thoughts. He stood up in one fluid motion, took his plate in his hand, and walked over to the sink. Each step was calculated and graceful. All I could do was swallow as my eyes followed his movements.

Emerson stopped once he was a couple of feet from me, close enough for the scent of eucalyptus and pine to invade my air but far enough away that I was out of arm's reach.