I typed another line, stopped, deleted it. My reflection in the monitor looked pale, tense, and unmistakably distracted.
“You’re fine,” I muttered to myself, clicking aimlessly through a spreadsheet. “You’re fine.”
Apparently, I couldn’t even convince myself.
The flat was silent except for the soft hum of the refrigerator. Cameron had left not long after I’d escaped to my room.
I wasn’t escaping. I’mworking. There’s a difference.
Semantics.
Cameron had called out to say he wouldn’t be back until late afternoon, his voice bright and easy. If he was carrying any memory of the night before, he hid it well.
I’d envied him that.
By noon, the screen saver had kicked in, and my untouched coffee had gone cold. I gave up pretending to work and went to wash the cup, the water running too loud in the small kitchen. I caught sight of Cameron’s mug on the drying rack, a faint smudge of charcoal still near the handle, and my stomach churned.
Get a grip, Theo.
I made a fresh mug, then decided to move operations to the desk, taking advantage of Cameron’s absence. I buried myself in my work, shutting out the world?—
Until the front door opened quietly at four-thirty.
Cameron’s voice followed, warm and light. “Hey, I come bearing groceries.”
I glanced up, startled. Cameron stood in the doorway, his hair wind-tousled, a large bag slung over his shoulder, and a paper bag balanced on his hip. He set the first down on the floor.
“I found your list,” he said as he kicked off his shoes. “Figured I’d save you a trip.”
I blinked. “My list?”
Cameron lifted a folded piece of paper from the paper bag, covered with my neat handwriting. “You left it on the counter. I assumed it wasn’t a secret document.”
“It’s—” I hesitated, then exhaled. “It’s not. You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to,” Cameron said simply, setting the bag on the counter. “You’ve been working all day. Go, sit, keep doing your computer wizardry.”
I almost smiled. “That’s not what I?—”
“Shh.” Cameron shooed me toward the desk. “I’m cooking. Besides, you’ll ruin the magic if you supervise.”
I arched my eyebrows. “Didn’t you say something about your cooking being lethal? Should I have paramedics on standby?”
Cameron narrowed his gaze. “Sit. Or no dessert for you.”
I opened my mouth to argue, then stopped. There was no point. Cameron had already rolled up his sleeves and was unpacking the bag, humming under his breath.
I retreated to the desk but didn’t reopen the laptop. I watched instead as Cameron moved easily through the small kitchen, the late sunlight catching in his hair. Every motion was unselfconscious, natural.
Stop staring.
I forced myself to go back to my laptop.
The scent of garlic and olive oil filled the air, and the rhythm of chopping vegetables merged with the muted hum of the computer. The domesticity of it made my chest tighten in a way I didn’t expect.
It felt safe.
And somehow dangerous.