Intertwined

Thirteen

Cassidy

When I woke up the next morning, the previous day felt surreal. I wasn't sure if I dreamed of the kiss and acting on my feelings or if it had actually happened. I wasn't even sure if the way he had hugged me when we stood in my room that night was real or a figment of my imagination, and I was not even sure if he had slept in my bed.

The other side of the bed was empty, with the sheets crumpled in a ball and a pair of men's jeans left strewn across the ground. Maybe, Houston left to sleep in his own bed. Maybe, he really did mean that I was only a fling for him.

The sound of pans and pots crashing downstairs caught my attention, and I immediately hopped out of bed, shoved the white bunny slippers on my feet, and ran down the stairs. The sight of the scene left me shocked, my jaw dropping in amusement. 

The source of his noise ended up being Houston, as he held his pointer finger while balancing multiple pans that had fallen out of the cabinets. He said sheepishly, "I burnt my finger, and all of these pans fell out of the cupboard."

I sufficed a laugh and asked, taking the pans out of his hands, "You need help?"

He nodded and I stacked the pans neatly in the same cabinet, careful to not let the pans fall back down. Houston muttered to himself, as he stirred the scrambled eggs, "You weren't supposed to wake up at that."

"I'm a light sleeper," I shrugged nonchalantly, while Houston gestured for me to take a seat at the bar stools. "Why are you cooking breakfast? You never cook."

"I cook. That's how I've survived." In response, he took a plate and started to put scrambled eggs and sausages on, which did not look seasoned at all.

With a raised eyebrow, I asked as he set the plate in front of me, "You wanted to make me breakfast?"

Houston took the seat across from me, and his smile lit up the room in reply to my compliment. He nodded and then said, "I wanted to make you feel special, so I cooked for you."

"Thank you," I replied, and then without a second thought I planted a kiss on his cheek, making sure no one was around to see. 

Then, I took a bite of the breakfast Houston had made, and I had to force myself not to spit it out. The eggs might have been the most unseasoned eggs I ever tried, and the sausages were practically charred all around. Instead of spitting out the food, I pulled a fake smile and tried to reassure myself it could get better.

The food never did, and I eventually had to confess the truth. I said, spying Houston's smile turning into embarrassment, "This food is so bad. It's horrible."

In reply, Houston took my advice lightly as he added laughing, "At least you're honest."

I questioned, "You know you're a bad cook?"

He nodded quickly, and I couldn't help but want to grab both sides of his face and kiss him. Before he could reply, I pulled him in for a kiss while I grabbed his muscular bicep, feeling the world turn below me. The kiss ended shortly, mostly from the smile and giggles I was unwilling to hide. 

We broke apart when a sudden voice startled us, and Gus stood in the doorway. Gus shrugged, holding a pair of tools from the barn, "It's none of my business, definitely none of my business. Y'all were probably lucky it was just me, and not anyone else."

"Sorry," Houston called out, hiding his smile underneath the shaggy, curly brown hair and blue eyes that always seemingly found my gaze. "We'll be careful."

"I really don't care whatever is going on," Gus replied, fixing the tools on the counter. "You could be having sex on the table, and I wouldn't care what you did."