Aysel
I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, my face the color of a ripe tomato, and wondered if it was possible to die of embarrassment.
The toothbrush lay abandoned on the tile floor where I’d knocked it over, a casualty of my spectacular overreaction to Magnus’s absurd marriage proposal.
Proposals.
Plural.
Because apparently once wasn’t enough for that insufferable man.
“Marry me.”
Okay.
Let’s review the facts.
Fact one: I was currently locked in a bathroom wearing nothing but my underwear and a t-shirt that was definitely not mine.
Fact two: A half-naked man with a ridiculously defined chest and shoulders was in my kitchen, making breakfast.
That alone almost made me think he was a perfect man.
Fact three: He had answered my phone.
He had spoken to Damon.
And then he had blocked him.
I pressed my palms against my burning cheeks and squeezed my eyes shut.
Why was I not more upset about this?
Because you don’t care about Damon anymore, Mia supplied.
And because Magnus’s body really is quite something.
I opened my eyes and glared at my reflection.
“Shut up,” I told myself.
“That’s not the point.
The point is…”
The point was that I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.
I picked up the toothbrush and set it back in the holder, trying to collect my scattered thoughts.
Last night had been…
a lot.
The wine.
The talking.
The way he’d held me, and how I’d woken up with my head on his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I looked down at my left hand and flexed my fingers.
His hand had been wrapped around mine.
I could still feel the ghost of his touch, the warmth that had seeped into my skin.
He’d been asleep, but he hadn’t let go.
What the hell is happening to me?
A sudden burst of sound made me jump…my phone buzzing violently on the counter.
I grabbed it, half-expecting Magnus’s name to flash across the screen.
Instead, I saw a number I’d had unblocked after I collected the phone.
The text preview showed on my lock screen, and I couldn’t help but read it.
Who the hell was that?
Aysel, pick up your phone.
I know you’re seeing this.
You can’t just ignore me.
I swiped it away and opened my messages.
There were seventeen unread texts from him.
Seventeen.
All sent in the span of maybe thirty minutes.
The earliest ones were almost worried, Is your phone stolen?
Are you okay?
but they quickly devolved into something more aggressive.
You’re playing games with me.
This isn’t funny.
I know you haven’t moved on, you’re just being dramatic.
And then, the last one: You’ll come back.
You always do.
I stared at the screen for a long moment, waiting for the familiar twist of guilt or longing or something.
Anything.
But I felt nothing.
Well, that wasn’t quite true.
I felt annoyed.
And a little bit smug, if I was being honest.
Whatever Magnus had said to him must have been devastating, because Damon had never blown up my phone like this before.
He was too weak for that.
I scrolled past Damon’s messages and saw a new notification from Skylar.
A text from literally five minutes ago.
I heard you burned down the house.
You absolute madwoman.
I’m so proud of you I could cry.
I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips.
Leave it to Skylar to find something empowering about arson.
Tell me everything.
I need details.
Were you dramatic?
Please tell me you were dramatic.
I typed back quickly.
There was fire.
There was screaming.
I may have cackled.
THAT’S MY GIRL.
But then the next message came through, and my smile faded.
Okay, for real though, how are you?
Do you need me to take time off and come be with you?
Because I will.
I’ll drop everything and be on the next flight out.
I bit my lip, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.
How was I?
Was this situation good, or not good?
I was in a bathroom, half-dressed, hiding from a man who was also half dressed and was making me breakfast.
Three dots appeared on Skylar’s side of the chat, then disappeared, then appeared again.
I could practically hear her impatient huff through the screen.
Aysel.
AYSEL.
Don’t leave me on read.
I’m going to assume you’re in danger and come over right now.
I’m booking a flight.
“Shit.”
I typed frantically.
NO.
Don’t do that.
I’m fine.
You’re clearly not fine.
You set your house on fire and now you’re being weird.
I am not being weird.
You’re being SO weird.
I’m coming over.
I groaned, pressing the phone to my forehead.
How was I supposed to explain this?
Seriously, Sky.
I’m okay.
I think it’s actually…
pretty good.
The response was immediate.
Bullshit.
I’m on my way.
I was running out of excuses.
You really can’t come over right now.
Why?
Did Damon track you down?
Is he there?
I swear to god, Aysel, if you let him back in…
No!
Then what?
I stared at the blinking cursor, my cheeks heating all over again.
There was no way around this.
I was going to have to say it.
There’s a naked chef here right now.
My thumb hovered over send for a full five seconds before I finally hit the button.
I watched the screen, waiting for the three dots to appear.
Nothing.
I checked my signal.
Full bars.
I refreshed the chat.
Still nothing.
Then, finally, a single thumbs-up emoji.
And then: Say no more.
I blinked.
That’s it?
I need a moment to process.
You literally set your house on fire and now there’s a naked man in your kitchen.
You’ve exceeded my maximum drama capacity for the day.
I need to lie down.
He’s not naked, I hope.
And it’s not like that.
It’s exactly like that.
I’m so proud of you I might actually cry again.
Talk later.
And enjoy eating your chef.
I stared at the screen, my face burning, and let out a strangled sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a shriek.
What the hell was I doing?
“Okay,” I whispered to myself.
“Okay.
You accepted this.
You’re doing this.
So go out there and see what a naked chef in an apron actually looks like.”
I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath, and unlocked the bathroom door.
I marched out of the bathroom with all the confidence I could muster, ready to face Magnus with a scathing remark or a witty retort, ready to pretend that my heart wasn’t doing something ridiculous in my chest.
But the kitchen was empty.
The whole apartment was empty.
I stood in the middle of the living room, blinking at the silence, and felt disappointment settle in my chest.
Magnus had set the table.
There was a plate of eggs and toast, next to a small vase with a single white flower I didn’t recognize.
A glass of orange juice.
A steaming cup of coffee.
And a folded piece of paper, propped up against the vase.
I walked over slowly, my bare feet silent against the hardwood floor, and picked up the note.
Aysel,
Something urgent came up.
I’ll explain later.
M.
I read it again and again.
Something urgent came up.
I ought to feel relieved.
He was an unwelcome guest, after all, a stranger who had somehow wormed his way into my life and my home and my bed.
I should be grateful that he was gone.
Instead, I pulled out the chair and sat down loudly, staring at the plate of eggs.
They were still warm.
He’d made them for me and disappeared.
I picked up the fork and took a bite of the eggs.
They were perfect.
“Damn him,” I muttered around the mouthful.
“Damn him and his perfect eggs.”