I wrap my arms around his waist. “Thank you. Can I do anything to help?”
“You can go sit at the table. There’s a coffee already there for you.”
“If you’re trying to be perfect, you’ve succeeded.” I laugh and head over to the dining table.
I pick up the very familiar coffee cup. It’s the one his mom bought for me when we were thirteen. She said I needed my own cup in their house because I was family.
My eyes tear up at the memory. “You kept my cup.”
“Much to my mother’s dismay. She looked for it for months when… Well, I never told her I took it and hid it in my closet.”
“Why?”
“Because she would have wanted it back, and I wanted to keep every piece I could.” Jake places a large stack of pancakes on the table.
“I remember the day your mom gave me this,” I tell him.
“So do I. She loved you. Probably more than she loved me.” He chuckles.
“I know. We kept in touch.”
“What?”
“When I went away to college, she wrote to me, and we just continued to keep in touch after that. Once a month, we’d have a phone call or a video chat.” I thought he would have known about that. “We didn’t talk about you—don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried. I’m jealous that she got to talk to you and I didn’t,” he groans.
I don’t tell him that it was his choice. I don’t want to ruin the good mood we both seem to be in this morning. I slept better last night than I have since I’ve been back from New York.
“Eat up before they go cold.” Jacob loads my plate up with chocolate chip pancakes.
After pouring a healthy dose of syrup on top, I cut into the fluffy stack and bring my fork to my mouth. I moan as the flavor hits my tongue. Jake is staring at me.
“What?” I ask him.
He shakes his head and smiles. “Nothing.”
“You should eat,” I tell him.
“I’ve eaten.”
“What did you have?”
“Muesli.”
My nose scrunches up in disgust. “Muesli isn’t breakfast. Pancakes are breakfast.” I shovel another forkful into my mouth. “When did you learn to cook pancakes this good?”
“I took lessons a few years ago,” Jake says, looking away.
“You what?” I sputter. “Why?”
“In case I ever got the opportunity to make you breakfast, I wanted to be able to do it well.”
Cue the butterflies. How can he say all this to me? How can he be so sure of how he feels and yet he left me alone on prom night? I know he said he didn’t have a choice, but he still hasn’t told me what it was he did that was so bad he had no choice but to join The Court or whatever that secret society crap is.
I’m about to question him, ask him what he actually did, when the doorbell rings out through the apartment.
Jake stands and then looks at me. “You should put some clothes on,” he says.