The Tree Remembers

Seriously. Just Friends.

I woke, brought out of slumber by Eddie's snores. I blinked my eyes open, glaring at the man who could rival a chainsaw with the sounds coming out of his mouth. My frustration gave way to butterflies when he pulled me closer to him, his arms around me tight. I realized that we were both still undressed, and I had spent the night in his arms, sleeping on his chest.

What was wrong with me?

I took a beat, studying the tattoos splayed across his chest – he had gotten more since high school, more since the night he had been my first everything. Before I could stop myself, I reached out, tracing a design of a dagger on his chest. A snore caught in his throat, and I was brought back to reality.

I moved out of his arms gingerly, careful not to wake him up. I scoffed when he barely moved, still very much in a deep sleep. I rolled off my bed, swiping my nightgown off the ground from where Eddie had thrown it last night. I pulled it on, smoothing it out and cursing myself.

I stormed to my bathroom, feeling more and more like Ellie, and closed my door. I started brushing my teeth and glaring at myself in the mirror. I was an idiot. I was an absolute moron. In what world was this a good idea? I spat my paste out and took a deep breath before going out to my apartment.

I went to my kitchen to start a pot of coffee. I paused – should I make more than I normally would? Do friends do that?

I groaned and scooped more coffee grounds into the filter, cursing my stupid, drunken slumber party and the fact that I even wanted to make him coffee. I started the pot, glaring at the slow drip.

"Morning, Belle."

"Jesus H. Christ!" I screeched, leaping what felt like three feet in the air. I turned to Eddie, trying not to flush at him in just his boxers. He grinned wildly at me, his hair messy and askew.

"Sorry, sweet pea," he said, dubbing me with a new nickname. He leaned against my kitchen counter and grinned at me. I felt my face heat as his eyes traced my body. "Coffee smells good. What's for breakfast?"

"Sweet pea?" I asked. He winked.

"I think it's cute."

"I'm not sweet. And you don't give friends that kind of nickname," I pushed, turning back to the coffee pot to hide my red face. I felt him come up behind me, the heat of his body sending me flashbacks of last night. He set his chin on my shoulder.

"Well, do friends make breakfast?" he asked, his voice low and sending shivers through my body.

"I don't eat breakfast," I replied, answering honestly. "I don't really cook."

"Belle, you don't eat breakfast? You don't cook?" he asked, incredulously. He set the heavy hands that had roamed all over me the night before on my waist, prompting me to look at him. He was close to my face, making my hair stand on edge.

"Your breath stinks," I replied, trying to break the tension. I was unsuccessful as he laughed and kissed my temple.

"Take a step back – I'm going to cook us breakfast."

I scoffed as he guided me out of the way and went to my fridge. I watched him as I poured us coffee, surprised by how comfortable he was in a kitchen.

"Do...do you want cream or sugar?" I asked awkwardly. He looked at me and grinned.

"How do you take it?"

"With a lot of cream and sugar," I replied sheepishly. He chuckled.

"That surprises me – I would think you take it black, as hardcore as you are," he teased, setting the supplies he found on the counter next to the stove. "For someone who doesn't cook, you've got the good stuff."