I couldn't remember the last time I'd fallen asleep with such ease, with peace and quiet around me, not even in my own home. There were no thuds or bangs from bustling neighbors, no car sounds, no voices calling out into the night, no dogs barking. Nothing.
I woke to the early pale sunlight beaming through the sheer curtains, casting a warm yellow hue on the room. I sat up, looking around at the space now in the light. The walls were a dark grey brick, the bed facing a wall of windows. There was dresser on the farthest wall from the door, matching the two side tables. I was covered in a dark grey duvet, fluffy and disturbed from the people to have inhabited it last night. I blushed, pulling my knees up to my chest.
I was suddenly very aware of the musky scent that always followed Lincoln was now surrounding me as I sat here. But the smell of vanilla cut through it all. I frowned, looking towards the door. I kicked the duvets off my legs and stood, doing my best to flatten them back out on the bed, tucking it neatly under the pillow. I tiptoed towards the door, turning the handle slowly and cracking it open. Before me dispatched the living room set up, flanked with huge windows letting in heaps of golden morning light. There was a blanket strewn over the sofa, and a crumpled up heap of what looked like a shirt on the floor. I walked further out of the room, the warm sugary smell growing stronger.
I froze. There stood Lincoln, behind the kitchen island, bare back facing me. In my head I thought that I had time to turn and retreat back to his room before he noticed me, but before I could act, he turned, holding a frying pan and spatula. His eyes flicked upwards, glinting with the sunshine rays. I stood like a dear in headlights. He stood unmoving as well.
"Well good morning," he finally said.
I wasn't sure if this was awkward. I became hyper conscious about staring at his eyes, trying not to look away. Would that be rude? He'd looked me up and down multiple times. He probably wouldn't care. If anything it would be a compliment. Still, I maintained eye contact.
Maybe he thought I'd sleep longer and he'd have time to cook shirtless, after all, this was his house. Or maybe he just forgot I was here. That seemed unlikely. I waited for a barrage or nervous laughter and some excuses.
"So, this is embarrassing but..." he started, and I could feel my cheeks flushing and the smile trying to force its way onto my face. "I wanted to cook you breakfast, but... I wasn't sure if you were vegetarian or vegan, so... I made pancakes?"
I stood letting his words sink in for a moment. So we were just gonna glaze over the fact that he was just shirtless and move right to my dietary restrictions? I almost burst out laughing.
"Um, yeah, I don't eat meat," I said shyly. "Thank you, that's awfully sweet."
"Sorry I couldn't be bothered to be a little more decent for breakfast," he said smiling, removing the confectionary from the pan and setting it on a plate before finally acknowledging his shirtless-ness. I blushed madly. "You grab yourself some while they're hot," he continued while turning and reaching up, opening a cupboard.
I watched as he did, the way his muscles moved under his skin. I bit my lip, never really having been exposed to such a sight. Staying at a man's house was non-existent to me up until now, let alone have him make me breakfast in the morning whilst half naked. I understood the appeal, having lived along myself. Being naked while doing ordinary things in your own home; if you can, why not?
He turned and I looked up to his eyes. "I'll change quick now that you're up."
He came around the counter and walked towards me. I thought he'd walk right passed, but instead, he paused beside me and turned.
"Are you feeling any better?" He asked softly.
I came up and met his eyes. They were bright, holding a concerned look.
