CATALYST

DAVID

Warning: smut chapter ahead. Read at your own risk.

             A lullaby.

      I couldn't get over it. He sang a lullaby to his little sister when she couldn't sleep. Of all the things about Travis that I'd learned, that one was my favorite. And he'd looked so miserable as he sang it in my kitchen. His singing voice was almost as terrible as mine.

      But it was so fucking sweet. And I hadn't been lying when I said I found it sexy—I did. There wasn't much about Travis I didn't find sexy. Even in my old jeans—or maybe especially in my old jeans—and his work shirt, he looked amazing. But he was amazing on the inside too. Smart and funny, kind and genuine.

      And I trusted him. It was astonishing to me how much I trusted Maxim after such a short period of time. We'd only met four days ago, and yet I felt more at ease with him than I'd felt with anyone in a long time. I could be myself around him in a "way I couldn't around other people. My real self, without hiding anything. There was such relief in that, and I felt incredibly grateful for it. If he never paid me a dime for the clothes or the rent or anything else I did for him, I wouldn't care. This feeling was worth everything, even if it wouldn't last forever.

      "Okay, here you go." He set a plate down in front of me, and I moaned in anticipation, my mouth watering. On it was what looked like four thick pancakes, fried to a golden brown, dusted with powdered sugar, and drizzled with honey. A big spoonful of something white—sour cream, maybe?—sat off to one side, and raspberries were scattered on top of it all.

      "This looks delicious. What are they again?"

      "Obanyaki. You say it now."

      I made an attempt, which I thought was pretty good, but Travis laughed anyway.

      "There, your first Japanese word for the day. I want you to learn four more by the end of the day." He put his plate down and took the chair across from me. I noticed how he'd known where everything was to set the table, from the placemats to the napkins to the utensils, and got a ridiculous kick from seeing him so familiar with my kitchen.

      "I'll try," I promised. Unable to wait a second longer, I picked up my fork and knife and cut a bite, making sure to get a little of everything so I'd taste all the flavors. I put it in my mouth and moaned again.

      Travis grinned. "Good, right?"

      I chewed slowly, appreciating the slight crisp on the outside and the soft, doughy inside. A little sweet, a little savory, the perfect balance. "How do you say delicious in Russian?"

      "In this case, oishi."

      "Well, this is fucking oishi."

      He laughed. "I'm so glad you like it. You'll have to let me cook dinner for you sometime too."

      "You can cook for me any time you want," I mumbled, my mouth full. "This is so good."

      He smiled, his cheeks flushing slightly. "Thank you."

      After breakfast, I helped Travis clean up the kitchen and we went up to my bedroom so I could give him the clothing I'd bought. He stood near the doorway while I went to my closet and retrieved the bag, pulling out the receipt and tucking it into my pocket. He'd see the price tags, so it was probably a silly gesture, but maybe I could convince him they'd been on sale. I had a feeling he was going to protest they were too expensive.

         When I came back in the room, he was still standing by the door, looking around curiously. "Looks different in here in the light," he said sheepishly.