Just like always, Isabel is the first one to wake up in the house. In between waking dreams of Wesley, she’s at least managed to get some sleep. She had still woken up at one-thirty on the dot, like she did when she was waiting to bandage him up. She wonders how long it’s going to take to break her of that particular habit. When dawn has finally broken, she starts the coffee percolating and sets about her morning routine of breaking some eggs and beating them into submission. She wanders around the kitchen, mixing bowl in hand. She’s so agitated that it’s impossible for her to stay still. She knows that, any moment now, Mike will appear and they’ll have to repeat the conversation they had the night before. But this time will she say the same thing?
She hasn’t quite been able to figure that out. She knows what her head is telling her, but her heart is saying completely the opposite. Her heart is telling her she doesn’t love Mike. But her head is reminding her the man she does love has disappeared, for all intents and purposes, forever, without any kind of a promise of ever coming back. It’s not exactly a promising prospect.
Her eyes wander around the kitchen, landing on the seat at the head of the table where Wesley would usually sit and the spot next to him that she would take when she was patching him up. Her cheeks heat as she thinks about the way he’d kissed her in that very spot.
“Well, this is a sight I could get used to seeing every morning.” Mike’s deep voice makes her jump as she whirls around to face him.
She feels herself blush all over again as she realizes she was thinking about another man just as he had been walking in. “Did you sleep well?” She smiles at him in the most friendly way possible, suddenly very aware she probably should have changed out of her skimpy pajamas before starting on breakfast.
“Like the dead. I’d forgotten how comfortable the beds here are.” He scratches at the blonde stubble that’s starting to form on his chin. Even just waking up you’d have to be blind not to see how good-looking he is.
Isabel is aware of his eyes on her, taking in the shortness of her shorts and her silk cami top, which doesn’t leave much to the imagination. His soft pajama pants tell her exactly what it is he’s imagining and Isabel’s eyes widen as she spins around, busying herself with the eggs.
“Coffee?” The word makes its way out through her strangled throat.
“Yeah, that’d be great. But why don’t you take a seat? I can take care of the breakfast.” He takes her by the elbow and gently guides her to one of the chairs before she has time to disagree.
“I don’t think my tenants are quite ready to take their life into their hands yet, Mike!” Isabel half-rises to stop him, knowing he’s about as proficient in the kitchen as a bull is in a china shop.
“Oh ye of little faith!” He points at her with a spatula. “I’ll tell you what. I make these eggs just for the two of us and you tell me if you trust me with the health of your paying customers. Deal?”
Isabel smiles, sitting back down. “Deal.” She watches him make his way around the kitchen, using pretty much every pan and utensil he can find to make scrambled eggs.
When he’s done, he delivers a plate to her with a flourish and goes to refill her coffee.
“Just black -” She starts directing him before she remembers that he knows exactly how she likes her coffee.
“I remember, Issy.” He says the words softly, placing the coffee mug down in front of her, his hand, skimming hers and it’s not a stretch to tell it wasn’t just a throwaway touch.
They sit in companionable silence, eating, but Isabel is slightly on edge. She knows there’s something that Mike is waiting to say.
“How do you look so pretty when you’ve just woken up?” She looks up from her plate, to find him staring at her in that way of his that lets her know his mind is somewhere she would rather it wasn’t.
Isabel opens her mouth to throw him a smart remark or to wave away the compliment but she’s interrupted before she can even start.
“Well, isn’t this cozy?” The voice behind her is as familiar to her as her own but she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing is real. Slowly, as if she’s afraid that any sudden movements would cause the mirage to disappear, she turns and looks at the man standing in the doorway.
“And you are?” Mike’s voice radiates tension and Isabel wonders if men have some kind of caveman instinct when it comes to ‘the other man.’
“Wesley. Who the hell are you?” The way he says the words are more like a challenge than an introduction and his gaze is pure steel.
Isabel opens her mouth to say something, but she’s still in shock, still taking him all in. He looks like he has a cut on his eyebrow that hasn’t been looked at; it probably needs stitches and there are some bruises fading on his knuckles. Aside from that, he looks in good shape and she sends up a little prayer of thanks to anyone who will listen.
“I’m Mike.” Mike, to his credit, stands up and walks towards Wesley, sticking his hand out to shake.
Wesley looks at it warily, before he takes it. Isabel can tell from Mike’s expression that Wesley crushes his hand in a tight grip and she can’t help but roll her eyes at the stupid things testosterone makes men do.
“Mike. Heard a lot about you.” Wesley looks the other man up and down, assessing him.
It’s bizarre to see the two of them together. They’re chalk and cheese. They couldn’t be any more different. Where Wesley is dark and olive skinned, Mike is blonde and blue eyed, the All-American boy. Both men are tall, but Wesley has a couple of inches on Mike and there’s no mistaking the fact that he’s broader, more powerfully built. They keep their eyes locked on each other, staring each other down and Isabel wonders absently if she’s been transported back in time to the Wild West.
The ridiculousness of the situation makes Isabel find her voice. “Wesley. What are you doing here?” She isn’t even aware she had stood up and is already walking towards him.
He looks at her now, focusing on her with those dark, bottomless eyes of his that make her want to fall into them and never find her way out. She swallows hard, noticing the way he looks her over, the way his eyes become hooded with lust as they roam her scantily clad body. It’s only then, when his gaze flicks to Mike, taking in his pajama bottoms that Isabel realizes what this must look like.
Wesley had stumbled on them eating breakfast together, looking for all the world like a happy couple, the morning after. She starts to tell him that it’s not what he thinks, that she and Mike aren’t together, before she remembers he’s the one who walked out and left her. He’s the one who disappeared into thin air. She doesn’t owe him any kind of explanation. Let him think what he wants. His eyes burn as the possibilities seem to run through his head.
“So, how do you two know each other?” Mike looks between Wesley and Isabel, but there’s no doubt in her mind he already knows the answer to that.
Isabel starts to explain before realizing that she actually has no idea where to start.
“I’m just a tenant.” Wesley hoists the bag that he’s let drop back over his shoulder. “But I guess there’s no more space for me here.” He looks at Isabel then, as if he’s asking her that exact question.
“We have room, Wes.” Isabel keeps her voice low, not wanting to give her emotions away.
She can sense the way that Mike is looking between the two of them, assessing their movements, the way they’re staring at each other.
“You’re him, aren’t you?” Mike nods slowly in understanding, as if everything makes sense now. “You’re the guy who walked out.”
Wesley nods, almost imperceptibly, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of Isabel. “I didn’t want to. But I didn’t have any choice.”
Isabel bites her lip, not wanting to believe what it is he’s telling her, needing more. “So why did you come back?”
Wesley opens his mouth to tell her, to tell her all of the things he’s been thinking and feeling for the past month but his gaze flicks between her and Mike again and back to her. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on here. “I guess that doesn’t really matter anymore.” He takes a step back as if to put some distance between himself and Isabel.
The connection between them hasn’t dimmed at all over time; if anything it’s even stronger. She can feel herself being pulled into his orbit again, but this time she has to show some kind of self-restraint; she has to employ some kind of self-preservation. Otherwise she’s in great danger of being pulled under again.
“Wes, tell me. Why are you here?” Her voice is strong, despite the fact that her knees feel as if they’re knocking together.
He looks at her then, and she almost wishes he hadn’t. The expression of hurt on his face is enough to bowl her over. “How long did it take, Bel? Did you call lover boy the minute I walked out the door or did you wait at least a couple of days?” He shakes his head at her and Isabel rears back as if he had hit her.
“Now, wait a minute -” Mike tries to intervene on her behalf but Isabel has no plans to let anyone else fight her battles for her.
“You’ve been gone for over a month, Wes. Or did that little fact somehow slip your mind?” She points her finger at him as if it were a weapon.
“I told you why I had to go.” He steps forward, filling up the space in front of her, but she’s not intimidated; she knows him too well. His nearness is intoxicating and it’s all she can do just to stay upright and not lean into him.
“Yeah, you did and you also told me I didn’t get any kind of a say in it!” Isabel throws her hands up in despair. Whenever she had thought of Wes reappearing in her life, this isn’t how it had played out at all.
“I did it for you, Bel.” His words come out through gritted teeth. “I did it for you.”
“Bullshit.” She says the word with enough venom for him to widen his eyes. “You did it for yourself, to relieve your own guilty conscience.” She knows she’s being harsh but a month of no contact from someone you thought really cared will do that to you.
“And what part of yourself were you relieving with blue eyes over here?” Wesley jerks his thumb at Mike as if the other man can’t hear what it is he is saying.
“Hey, that’s enough.” Mike slams a hand down on the kitchen table and both Isabel and Wesley turn to face him at his sudden outburst.
Immediately, Isabel feels like a heel. She and Wesley are going at each other as if there is no tomorrow, leaving Mike in the middle of an argument that he wasn’t even aware he is a part of.
“Mike, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t be involved in this.” She takes a step towards him and he holds up his hand to stop her.
“This is him, isn’t it, Issy?” Mike’s focus is on Isabel. He doesn’t once look at Wesley.
Isabel nods wordlessly and Mike rakes his fingers through his hair, as if she’s just confirmed something he hoped he was wrong about.
“So where does this leave us?” He looks at her, a whole world of hurt in his eyes.
“Mike, I -” She stops, not knowing what it is she wants to say, only knowing it’s not fair for him for them to have this conversation with Wesley standing right there.
“It’s all right. I get it. I really do.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “I’ll just go get my things.” He starts to walk out but Isabel grabs hold of his hand.
“All right, everyone just hold up for a minute.” She looks at both men, her levels of impatience reaching stellar levels. “You,” she points to Wesley, “your old room is all made up. And you,” she points to Mike, “you sit down.”
“I’m not staying.”
“Issy, this isn’t -”
Both men speak at the same time, in the same stubborn tone.
Isabel shakes her head, holding her hands up to get them to stop. “I don’t want to hear it. Wes, we’ll talk later. Mike, sit the hell down.” She crosses her arms over her chest, just waiting for one of them to give her a reason to get even madder.
“Has she always been this bossy?” The amusement in Wesley’s voice is the last thing she expects.
“Pretty much.” Mike’s response is equally full of humor. “I think the professors are even a little scared of her.”
The smile the men exchange throws her completely off guard. “It’s nice everyone’s bonding and all that, but -”
“I know, I know. I’m going.” Wes holds his hands up in surrender, but she doesn’t miss the heart-stopping grin he throws her before he disappears down the hallway in the direction of his old bedroom.
“And I’m sitting.” Mike imitates Wes’s pose and sits down hard on the wooden chair, crossing his arms and looking at her expectantly.
Now that they’ve actually done what Isabel has asked, she feels a little at a loss of what to do next. Focus, Bishop, focus. She takes a deep breath, deciding whether she should speak from her head or from her heart. Looking into Mike’s eyes that look bluer than ever before, she knows what she has to do. She opens her mouth and speaks.