Talon
I awoke to the smell of burnt toast. My heart galloped in my chest at the thought that I was having a stroke. Then, I smelled burnt bacon and realized it was just Charlotte cooking breakfast.
I slumped back against my pillow and smiled. My girl was terrible at cooking, but the fact that she tried to make food for me anyway meant that she cared about me. People joked about adding love as a special ingredient, but with Charlotte, I believed it to be true.
I savored every charred piece of toast, every piece of bacon that somehow managed to be both burnt and undercooked, and every scrap of brown, rubbery eggs that she made for me. I loved it because she made it for me. I would choke it down with a smile and tell her it was delicious, and it wouldn’t even be a lie because I loved every little special thing she did for me. It was a sign of her affection, and I would never take that for granted.
It was like those stupid green pants. I wore them a few times just because she bought them for me. Sure, they were way too tight, and they cut off circulation to my balls. And yes, they looked like leggings or tights on me, and I looked like some kind of hipster elf from the North Pole. And okay, green was my least favorite color. But none of that mattered because I loved Charlotte with every fiber of my being.
So what if I lied to her to make her happy? Did that make me a monster? Didn’t everyone do that with the people they loved, at least a little bit?
It was the same thing with the big secret I was keeping from her. I felt guilty about sneaking around behind her back, and I hated having to lie to her to keep the secret to myself, but I was doing it with the ultimate goal of making her happy.
I still believed all the tension it was causing was worth it if it would bring her joy in the end.
Charlotte waltzed into the bedroom, balancing a tray of food in her hands. She smiled at me and set the tray down on the bed. The tray overflowed with a feast of culinary disasters. Any appetite I had vanished as my stomach cringed in fear.
I looked up at Charlotte. Her proud smile beamed back at me, silencing any criticisms before they could even form.
“This looks amazing, baby,” I said. “Thank you so much.”
Her cheeks flushed with pleasure, and she looked bashful. “Well, I wanted to do something special for you, since it’s Christmas Eve morning. And I know it didn’t turn out perfectly, but—”
“I love it,” I said, interrupting her. “And I love you.”
I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward me gently. When she was close enough, I planted a warm kiss on her lips. She sighed into my mouth, sending warm shivers through my entire body.
I wanted to pull her into bed with me, tear her clothes off, and show her just how much I loved everything she did for me. I couldn’t move, though, not with the tray of food resting on the comforter. As tempting as it was to “accidentally” knock the food onto the floor, I could never do something so mean-spirited to Charlotte. She worked hard on this, and the least I could do was eat it. Or try to, anyway.
Charlotte climbed into bed next to me, and I kissed her again, partly because she was irresistible and partly because I wanted to delay the inevitable. She giggled against my lips and pulled away.
“The food’s going to get cold,” she said.
“Let’s warm things up, then,” I said, darting in and stealing another kiss. She leaned into the kiss for a second before breaking away.
“Hopefully, there’s enough for the both of us,” she said.
“Oh, you’re going to help me eat all this?” I asked, trying not to sound too relieved.
She nodded. “Of course.”
I grabbed a fork and took a bite of the scrambled eggs. They weren’t as bad as they looked. They weren’t great, but they weren’t bad.
“Delicious,” I said.
“You like it?” she asked.
“I love it.”
I grabbed a piece of bacon and popped it into my mouth. It was half-crunchy and half-chewy, but it was still bacon, which always tasted good. The toast tasted like buttered charcoal, but with a drink of orange juice, it went down harmlessly.
We finished about half of the food. Then I grabbed the tray and placed it beside the bed on the floor.
“Thank you for breakfast,” I said, reaching out and pulling Charlotte into a tight embrace.
She leaned her head against my chest, sighing. “You’re welcome.”
I grazed my fingers along her back, enjoying the feel of her soft, warm skin. “A guy could get used to this.”
“You want me to make you breakfast in bed every morning?” she asked.
“No,” I said a little too quickly. “I mean, I would never expect you to wait on me hand and foot. I’m just saying, it’s nice to be pampered every once in a while. You make me feel like a king.”
She laughed softly. “And I’m your servant?”
“Well, I wouldn’t be against you wearing a French maid outfit every once in a while, but no, you’re not my servant. You’re my queen.”
“Am I?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said. “You’re so amazing, Charlotte. And every day, I feel like I love you more and more. You mean so much to me, and I couldn’t imagine living my life without you by my side.”
I was hoping to hear her echo my sentiments back to me, but instead, Charlotte burst into tears. I froze in shock at the unexpected reaction, and she slipped out of my arms, bounced off the bed, and fled from the bedroom.
“Charlotte,” I called out. “What’s going on?”
I jumped out of bed to chase her, and my foot landed right on the tray. One of the orange juice glasses shattered, and a sharp, stinging pain exploded in my sole. I fell to the floor, clutching my foot. Warm blood seeped through my fingers, and the citric acid of the oranges burned like a son of a bitch.
“Shit balls,” I cursed under my breath. Even through my pain, I was more concerned with what was happening with Charlotte.
“Charlotte, please,” I called out. “Come back and talk to me.”
I heard the jingle of keys, and then the front door opened and slammed shut.
“Charlotte?”
There was no answer. She was gone.
I hobbled into the bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit out of the cabinet. I washed my wounded foot in the sink, watching my own blood mix with the water and spiral down the drain. The cuts on my foot weren’t deep. They wouldn’t need stitches. Still, every time my heart beat, pain throbbed in the gashes.
I cleaned the cuts out with hydrogen peroxide, inhaling sharply at the sting, but the pain was nothing compared to the turmoil I felt about Charlotte’s emotional outburst. I didn’t understand what the hell was going on with her. Everything had seemed to be going so well this morning. I never expected her to do anything like run away from me.
I wrapped my foot in thick layers of gauze and limped over to the nightstand to grab my phone. I called Charlotte, but after ten or so rings, her voicemail came up. I called again, and this time, it went straight to voicemail. She’d turned her phone off.
I collapsed on the couch with my foot elevated, wracking my brain about what to do. Obviously, she was upset and didn’t want to talk to me, but I had no idea why. Things had been rocky between us this last week, but nothing about this morning had been tense or out of balance.
Hell, she made me breakfast, which sure as shit made it seem like she was in a good mood with me. Admittedly, it wasn’t the tastiest meal in the world, but it wasn’t like she’d cooked it like that on purpose. She’d eaten it, too. So, she wasn’t trying to poison me. Not intentionally, anyway.
My stomach churned with a greasy feeling, but it had nothing to do with breakfast and everything to do with the dread I felt about her running away. If she wouldn’t talk to me, how in the hell was I supposed to get a hold of her and make things right?
I grabbed my phone again and dialed her parents’ number at the hotel. Gloria answered, and relief surged through me.
“Gloria, it’s Talon,” I said. “Is Charlotte there?”
“Yes, she is,” she said, and I could hear the displeasure in her voice. “She’s sobbing uncontrollably. She can’t even talk to tell us what happened.” She paused. “What did happen? What did you do?”
“Nothing, I swear. Gloria, we were having a great morning. She made me breakfast. I told her how much I loved her, and then she just started bawling. Then she ran away before I could even talk to her.”
“Well, something must have set her off, Talon,” she said. “And whatever it is, I don’t like it.”
“I don’t like it, either,” I said. “I’m sick with worry, but at least I know she’s there with you. I need to find out what the hell is going on. I’m coming over.”