Waking up in an unfamiliar room makes me jolt out of bed in the morning. It takes a few seconds to catch up with my reality: living with Devlin.
Climbing out of bed, I tug on a pair of leggings and a gray wide neck t-shirt that drapes off my shoulder.
Turns out, Devlin is easy enough to avoid in such a big house. I give him the slip as I explore it more in the light of day. I learn where the exits are and commit them to memory, mapping out the giant property until his commanding voice fills the house over an intercom system.
“Get your ass to the kitchen for breakfast, troublemaker,” Devlin demands. His wicked chuckle fills the room. “Don’t make me come find you. I’ll hunt you down and take whatever I want as a finder’s fee.”
I scramble to the kitchen, wary of what he might do.
Devlin stands at the stove with a fresh pan of eggs. The shock of him making food stalls me in the doorway. The savory scent of bacon makes my mouth water, and I inch closer. A strange warmth blooms in my chest at the sight of him dishing out the food he made.
“Do you want to eat or not?” He sounds amused.
“It smells really good. Thanks for cooking.”
Devlin hums, setting a plate of toast down. Circling the island, he clasps my wrist and pulls me over, where he has two plates set side by side.
It’s so…domestic. Normal. Like a family used to eating together. I’ve only ever had that with Mom.
The blooming warmth expands.
“Wow, you really cut up fresh fruit, too? I don’t think I ever pictured someone like you cutting up your own fruit.”
“I like cooking. My aunt taught me.” Devlin takes the seat next to me, the one he tied me to the first time I was here. “You’re not going to starve while you’re here. Eat.”
“You didn’t poison it, did you?”
Rolling his eyes, Devlin crunches into a piece of bacon.
It smells divine. Who knew the devil could cook?
I take a bite and clap my hand over my mouth, groaning involuntarily.
A small satisfied smirk curls Devlin’s mouth.
We eat in silence for a few minutes. I’m having a full on experience. It’s a surprise that he would lift a finger, but finding out he actually is a good cook is blowing my mind.
“I’m going to go for a run before the party later,” Devlin says, breaking the quiet.
“You are?” I perk up.
Devlin quirks a thick brow. “I assume you'll follow me on the trail anyway, so you might as well join me. Did you bring shoes?”
“Yeah.” I don’t mean to sound so breathless, but I haven’t gone for a real run in so long. “I want to come, too.”
We finish eating and the world doesn’t grind to a halt. It’s a miracle. Maybe we stopped being bitter enemies when I wasn’t looking, but it’s hard to keep hating the guy who fed you gloriously fluffy eggs and paid for your mom’s medical expenses.
We’re not friends, but maybe we could be. If he can apologize for being the world’s biggest jerk for the last few years. I’ll even say I’m sorry for attempting to steal his car.
When we’re on the trail an hour later, the fresh air fills my lungs.
Stretching my legs and pumping my muscles as we jog through the mountain trail is amazing. It’s the most I’ve felt like myself in months.
My legs burn in a way I love as we push on.
Devlin keeps pace with me as I learn the unfamiliar path. His perfect running form is as precise as the rest of his cultivated habits, only giving the impression he’s loose and effortless while he cuts through the trail with amazing speed.
I find myself watching him more than the trail at some points. He’s a beautiful runner, his tousled black fringe pinned back from his face by an elastic band.