Whispering With You

37. This make-believe world.

Kelly

I SHUFFLE INTO THE KITCHEN THE NEXT MORNING, the smell of frying bacon and brewing coffee luring me in. Patting my bare stomach, I take in the scene: my girl at the stove, a spatula in hand, dressed in only my green checkered flannel and mismatched fuzzy socks.

"Morning," I whisper into her ear as I crowd her from behind. "What are you making?"

There is a piece of bread sizzling in butter in a frying pan, and Sutton cracks an egg into the hole in the center of the bread. "Eggs in a basket," she answers, glancing at me over her shoulder. "My dad's Sunday morning specialty."

As she sprinkles a generous amount of salt and pepper over the egg, I slip my hands under her shirt, exploring her soft skin and curves. I palm her breasts, feeling the weight of them in my hands, but before I can take the exploration further, she steps out of my embrace. I tangle my hands in the soft fabric of the flannel, reeling her back in, and I laugh at the feisty look she directs my way, pointing the spatula at me.

"Nu uh, Kelly. Keep those hands to yourself. This is a science. I have to flip it at just the right time, or it's ruined."

She swats me with the plastic utensil to emphasize her point, and I back away, settling against the counter next to her. I steal a slice of bacon from a plate lined with napkins to soak up the grease, popping it into my mouth as I watch her gently slide the spatula under the bread in the pan experimentally.

On the surface, everything looks fine. A happy couple half-dressed making brunch the morning after a hot date. But I can't help but feel the differences from other Sunday mornings together. Instead of snuggling the morning away, Sutton made an early escape from the bed. I awoke alone, the strangest feeling gurgling in my stomach.

Instead of allowing me to spoil her, she's busying herself with tasks to spoil me. It feels more like a distraction ploy, though. A way to put distance between us.

She didn't even kiss me good morning. And I feel the absence of the greeting acutely.

I feel unsettled. And I don't fucking like it.

Just as I'm making myself a cup of coffee, she flips the bread with the egg in the middle onto a plate, tossing on a few strips of bacon, and sets it on a placement on the island. "Eat," she says, placing a fork and napkin next to the plate. Before she can walk away, though, I grab her wrist and twirl her to face me. She scans my face, avoiding directly looking into my eyes, and tries to wriggle free.

"Baby girl." My voice is low, rough, and I almost don't recognize it. Her eyes snap to mine, finally looking at me. "Hi."

She blanches; and I run my thumbs over the warmth of her cheeks. "Hi," she whispers.

"What's going on?"

At this, she looks away, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth. She knows her face always betrays her, broadcasting her every feeling, and I can see her try to school her expression. The feeling in my gut resembles a lead weight.

She shakes her head, briefly looking at me. "Nothing," she says, backing away. "Eat before it goes cold."

She busies herself at the stove, throwing another slice of bread into a sizzling pile of butter.

I sit on the stool and stare at the plate, my appetite suddenly gone, and I poke the egg with a fork, watching the yellow of the yoke ooze out onto the toasted bread. I force myself to take a few bites, washing it down with coffee, but I barely taste either.

As I'm eating the last bits of the breakfast, Sutton sinks into the stool next to me, her attention on her plate. I suppress my groan of irritation, opting instead to give her the space she's obviously desperate for.