Chaos and Control(53)

“On Mondays, she says she’s spending time with her best friend, Laney. But I ran into Laney, and she says she hasn’t seen or heard from Bennie in months.”

“That’s weird.”

“It is. Bennie knows how I feel about lying. I mean, we’ve never kept secrets from each other. I’m totally going to call her on it.”

Preston looks out across the park, the chains of his swing creaking in rhythm. “Maybe you should wait. She is in the hospital. Give her a while to recover. I know you know Bennie, but I do, too. I think whatever she isn’t telling you, there could be a good reason behind it. An argument with you would gut her, Wren.”

“There’s no excuse for it,” I say. “But you’re right. I don’t want to fight with Bennie—especially now. Guess I’ll have to keep a closer eye on her. Make sure she’s getting lots of rest and not overdoing it.”

He nods again, his eyes on the trees in the distance. What I wouldn’t give to be inside his head, to know what he’s obsessing over at this very moment.

We make our way home, my socks and boots safely back on my feet. At his door, I’m hesitant to let him go.

“Want to come over for breakfast in the morning? There will be pancakes and fruit and bacon—but not real bacon. Turkey bacon, because it’s Bennie and some things never change. I’m not going to wait for her to call. We can eat, and then I’ll go wait at the hospital until they release her.”

Preston wraps his arms around me, his large hands rubbing circles on my back.

“I’d love breakfast. And I’ll bring you to pick up Bennie.”

“You sure?” I ask.

“I’m sure.”

“Okay. Come over at eight o’clock.” I walk backward as Preston unlocks his door. “Good night, Preston-who-didn’t-stick-to-his-schedule-today.”

His eyes widen, and his head tilts a bit. Slowly, a smile lifts the corner of his mouth, and he turns away.

“Good night, Wren.”

…

Preston knocks on the door at exactly eight a.m. I leave the stove, smooth down Bennie’s apron, and run my fingers through my hair before pulling the door open. Preston stands on the other side, looking like a damn cover model so early in the morning. He gives me a grin, eight kisses on my waiting lips, and steps inside.

“Good morning,” he says.

Preston’s eyes trail down my body. Beneath the apron, I may have purposely not changed out of my pajama shorts and tank. There’s a lot of visible skin, and by the tortured look on his face, I can tell he’s taking it all in.

“Good morning.” I wave him over to the table, where he takes a seat. “You want some coffee?”

He nods and holds up a mug he brought with him. I pour him a cup and set it on the table before returning to my skillet and flipping the turkey bacon over.

“Thanks,” he says, tipping his mug at me. “It smells great in here.”

“It’s going to taste even better.”

Preston is silent. He alternates between watching me cook and gazing out of the front window while sipping his black coffee. It’s not uncomfortable. I feel at ease just being near him. When I place the bacon, pancakes, and fruit on the table, Preston mimes wiping drool from his mouth. I untie the apron, pull it off, and hang it on the back of the pantry door. With nothing to impede his view, Preston is not even trying to hide his appreciation of my breakfast attire.

“You hear from Bennie yet?” he asks, spearing two pancakes and dropping them onto his plate.

“Nope. I’ll give her a call when we’re done eating.”

Preston nods. “These are great.”

I smile and watch his jaw work beneath that short beard, eating the food I made him. My food, but still twelve chews before swallowing. Pride surges through my chest as he moans and hums.

“I’m glad you like it. Do you want some syrup?”

He shakes his head. “No.” Preston looks embarrassed suddenly, and I wonder what the issue is now. “I don’t like to combine foods,” he admits.

“Hmm. I love to mix all kinds of things together.” I drag my finger through a puddle of syrup on my plate and suck it off my finger. “Watching me eat is probably a nightmare for you, huh?”

He watches closely as I slide my finger out of my mouth. “Not exactly.” I laugh at his honesty. “I mean, it should bother me. If it was anyone else, I think it would. But there’s something about you, Wren.” He pauses and lays his fork on the edge of his plate. “Most days I feel like my brain is made up of bad wiring, you know? Like, something in there is not complete or connected how it should be. I picture these rapid-firing sparks shooting off in every direction. Did I leave the iron on? Did I lock the door? Did I pay my phone bill? Is that car going to hit me? Should I wash my hands again? Will I get heart disease? When you’re around, it’s like my circuits connect, my thoughts are clearer.”

“Wow,” I breathe.

Preston gives me a half-hearted grin and shrugs. “Sorry for such heavy talk over breakfast.”

“Thank you for sharing that with me. It’s hard for me to understand. But I want to.”

Preston nods and opens his mouth for a second before pressing his lips together again.

“What is it?” I ask, dropping my empty plate into the sink.