Theo clung to his mug like it was an anchor against awkwardness, hot enough that it was nearly burning his hands. He pressed the heel of his palm against his eyebrow, where a headache pierced against his forehead. The hangover was tame enough, but shame made his pallid face burn.
He'd woken up in someone else's bed that morning, limbs tangled together like vines. For a moment, he thought he was dreaming the light peeking through the foreign window, but he nearly fell out of bed when something—someone—shifted further into his bare chest for warmth.
Her house—more like an apartment—was small and quaint. The floors creaked, but they seemed clean. Dirty dishes were still on the table, but they were stacked neatly, as if just waiting to be cleaned. Organized chaos. It was... characterizing? Weirdly charming?
The woman was rummaging through a pantry, her back to Theo. Her auburn hair was falling out of its clumsy pony's tail. "I've got, uh..." She held up something crinkling and cylindrical, wrapped in layers of parchment. "Goat cheese. Lucky you. I just bought it yesterday. Or the day before, I can't remember." She set it on the counter. "And, uh..." She turned around. "Wait, you can help me. I'm not good with breakfast foods, so help me come up with something." She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I've got an otherworldly headache. Can't think under these conditions."
Theo released his death grip on the mug and nodded, any questions about the night previous stuck in his throat. He peered over her shoulder into the pantry, keeping a healthy distance between them as if she radiated scandal.
"See anything?"
"You have biscuits," he offered, swallowing his silence. "Maybe spread the cheese on the biscuits. And, erm... preserves, if you have them." He swallowed, even though his mouth was dry. "Unless you want to keep them for yourself, in which case I can't blame you at all. I... Well." He rubbed the back of his neck, face burning. I am a stranger, after all, he almost said. Theo swallowed and tried again: "I can't expect you to... when..." Shut up, Theo.
She continued as if she hadn't noticed him choking on his own tongue, standing on her tiptoes to open a cabinet. "I think I've got some sweet potato preserves that need to be used. My mom has this big patch of sweet potatoes, so I always get a jar for every holiday." She looked at him for the first time, right in the eyes. Theo's stomach turned to water; they were blue and intense. "Every. Single. One. I don't even like sweet potatoes."
Theo stretched his lips in what he hoped was a well-mannered grin. If they were alive, his parents would be ashamed, he thought. One night of drinking and laughing was all it took to get him into someone else's bed. Was he really this easy?
He'd had a plan. He was going to wait, truly. Isn't that what his father used to say? Something about plenty of shiny fish in the sea and waiting for the right fish or a mermaid or something?
She hopped on her tiptoes to reach the sweet potato preserves, which were on the top shelf. "Do you like sweet potatoes?" She turned toward him.
"I do."
She gestured to him. "Are you always this articulate?"
"I—pardon?" Theo blinked.
"I'm pelting you with questions, here. You have to help me out. I only have so many memorized."
He snorted, despite himself. "Do you ask questions as a rule?"
"It's more like a quota system." She popped open the marmalade-orange jar of preserves. She faced away from him, but her voice was edged in a grin. "I'm well over mine and you're well under yours, so you'll have to catch up."
