I’m feeling ungrateful. Don’t get me wrong. Eating breakfast with Michael after a wonderful night of being in his arms, of being close to him again—is amazing. Except, in my head, I was hoping for more. Last night it felt like we had broken through walls. I thought this morning that everything would be different. Michael said he loved everything about me in the heat of the moment. Did he mean it? In my heart, I was hoping to hear him say…I love you—not everything about me…just… I sigh, stopping my morose thoughts.

It feels like nothing has changed. I woke up alone, not in Michael’s arms, and that seems to be a reoccurring theme in my life. I hate that I expected more from Michael than what he’s giving. I hate that I’m not satisfied with how great this is right now.

“You okay, Beauty?” he asks, and the simple question, along with the concern on his face, only intensifies my guilt.

“Just enjoying my eggs and bacon. You didn’t have to do this, you know. I had eggs and bacon here I could have—”

“You had,” he mutters, before taking another bite of his own food.

“Huh?”

“I burned them.”

“But I had…”

“A lot. Yeah, I know. We’ll have to go to the store. Beauty I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think I can cook.” He looks so disgusted with himself, that I can’t stop laughing. “I don’t think it’s that funny,” he says his voice gruff. I do my best to contain my amusement.

“Michael, it’s sweet that you tried, but really—”

“It shouldn’t be that damn hard. Fuck, if Stroker can cook, I should be able to, too. But damn it those eggs were defective, Hayden.” I laugh again, because really, his outrage is hilarious. “I’m not lying! All I had to do was touch one of them, and it crumbled. Most of the time I couldn’t even get the damn things into the pan and if I did…hell, there was so many fucking shells that I had to throw it all out. And the bacon…Jesus H. Christ…” That’s it! My laughter takes over to the point I have tears running down my face and I can’t even pretend to sympathize anymore. When Michael grunts at me and gives me an insulted look, I laugh even harder. “You need spanked more often,” he grumbles.

“We can discuss that later if you want,” I tell him, before I can stop myself.

“We sure as hell will,” he answers immediately. This time he’s the one wearing the smirk. I can feel my cheeks heat and decide it’s time to divert the conversation.

“Why do you want to cook like Clive anyway?”

“Because he cooked for you,” he grumbles again, refusing to look me in the eye.

“So?” And I think I know what he’s getting at, but I’m not sure. I want him to admit it.

“When you think about a man taking care of you, Hayden—that man should be me,” he answers, managing somehow to make all those words sound like one long grunt. My heart stutters.

“Michael, you do take care of me. You did last night. You’re the only man I ever want to take care of me.”

“I’m not just talking about sex, Hayden.”

I smile. I can’t help it. It’s not him saying, I love you—but it’s close. I reach over and grab his hand, I let my finger move over the indention of the scar. “I was too, Michael,” I tell him honestly.

“I’m sorry I pushed you away, Hayden. I’m sorry I hurt you. I want to make it up to you.”

Finally! Will this be the moment he says he loves me? My heartbeat quickens. I need to hear that from him.

“Michael, I’d like to—”

“What was that?”

“What?” I ask confused at seeing the concern on his face.

“Didn’t you hear that voice?”

“Huh? Michael are you okay?”

“Do you smell that?” he asks, and I inhale. At first I don’t notice anything. Then beneath the lingering smell of burned bacon and takeout, I smell it. Strawberries. I smelled that before. That day in the shop when the gunman came in.

“What is that?” I ask confused.

Michael looks around not answering me. Then he yells, “Get down Hayden!”

“What are you talking about? I am down,” I tell him, wondering if there’s something more wrong with him than I knew. I’m sitting down at the table, and he can clearly see that. Before I can question him further, he stands up and rushes toward me. I hear the window behind me shatter just as Michael gets to me. He bends over completely covering me. He tucks my head into his chest. My heart is in my throat. I hear more glass break and then I feel Michael’s body jerk.

“Michael, what’s going on?” I cry, my words muffled against him.

“I need you to move with me and get under the table. I want you to stay there until I get back,” he tells me, and he’s already moving me where he wants me.

“What’s going on?” I ask, afraid I already know. A sick feeling hits my stomach. We’re being shot at. Is it Blade?

“I’m going to find out Beauty, but I need you to stay here. Promise me,” he tells me and I nod my head yes, because there’s nothing else I can do.

“Be careful,” I whisper when he goes to leave. He doesn’t answer, because he’s already running out the door. I’m left cowering under the table, feeling physically ill.

Please be okay, I silently pray. Please.