Chapter 6

Late night pancakes

This is the worst idea I've ever had.

What the hell was I thinking, asking Chris to move in?

Sure, he's my best friend, and I'd love to spend more time with him, but did I really think it would be easy ? It was hard enough dealing with my feelings for Chris when he was miles away in London. Now that he's here, it's going to be a million times harder.

I can't sleep. And that's a huge issue. Usually, I'm the first to fall asleep. I love sleep. I don't even have to try; I just close my eyes and drift off. But tonight is different.

I can't stop thinking about Chris being just a room away from me. Right. Next. Door.

It's driving me crazy. I haven't been this close to him since high school, and the old feelings are flooding back, stronger than ever. I roll over, staring at the ceiling, willing myself to relax, but my mind keeps replaying every smile, every touch, every moment we've shared.

I let out a breath, my mind wandering back to those nights when I'd lie like this, my head resting on his chest. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Everything has changed between us, even if I never wanted it to. I never expected him to be back, and now he is.

Just for the summer.

And then he'll go back to London in a few months, and then I'll have to face another year—or however long—without seeing him again.

And what if I never see him again? What if he prefers his life there, decides to stay in London, meets someone, and—

"Ugh." The thought makes me groan.

I kick the covers off, swinging my feet over the edge of the bed. I can't do this. I can't sit here all night, thinking about what-ifs.

"I need some food," I murmur to myself, slipping out of bed and into the darkness. Without bothering to turn on the light, I head for the door, cracking it open.

The bright light from the kitchen floods my face, making me squint. Blinking to adjust, I see Chris, rummaging through the cabinets.

Chris twists his head at the sound of my door opening. "Oh shit," he says, quickly closing the cabinet. "Did I wake you? I'm so—" His words trail off, his mouth falling open as his eyes widen, scanning down my body. "Fuck. I, uh…"

I glance down, suddenly aware that I'm only wearing a t-shirt and panties. "Shit." I turn, and head back into my room, grabbing a pair of sweatpants and pulling them on. "Sorry for the strip show," I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

"No, it's… uh, fine. It's your apartment," he stutters, still looking flustered.

"It's yours too," I point out, stepping out of my bedroom, now more decent. "At least for the next two months."

"Right." The muscle in his jaw ticks. "I hope I didn't wake you up."

I shake my head, leaning against the kitchen island. "I couldn't sleep."

"Me either," he says, a smile curling his lips. Chris's smile is my favorite thing in the world. "Jet lag."

I tilt my head. "Why is that funny?"

He shakes his head. "I used to make that excuse all the time in London. Now it's actually true."

My smile fades a little. He has a whole life away from me, with people who aren't me.

"I was just looking for some cereal," he says, gesturing with his thumb behind him. "Do you have any?"

My lips twitch. At least that hasn't changed. "You still eat cereal as a midnight snack?"

He nods, raking a hand through his curly hair. "Nothing better, in my opinion."

"I can think of something better," I tell him, flicking my hair behind my shoulder, a playful glint in my eyes.

"Yeah?" he asks, his gaze tracking my movements before his lips turn up in a smirk. "What?"

"Pancakes."

He lets out a soft laugh, and it eases my heart to hear it. I haven't heard that in person for such a long time. "Now?"

I flutter my eyelashes innocently at him, a playful smile dancing on my lips. "You always made the best ones," I tease, my tone lighthearted. "And I'm craving them so bad."

He flashes me a smile, his eyes twinkling with amusement, and opens the cabinets again. "Where are your mixing bowls?"

"Wait. Seriously?" I chuckle.

"You want pancakes, right?" he asks, arching a brow.

I was only joking about him making me pancakes. I wanted to remind him of all the amazing times we had together, but if I'm honest, I don't think I've had pancakes since senior year of high school, when Chris made them for me last. "Well, yeah, but—"

"Then we're making pancakes." He grabs a bowl from my cabinets and opens another. "Do you even have the ingredients?"

I tut, shaking my head. "Wrong thing to ask, Chris. Always assume I don't know where anything is."

He turns to face me, blinking. "How did you survive without me?"

"Madi did everything around here," I say with a shrug. "But she had to move in with her boyfriend, and leave me to fend for myself." I exaggerate a sigh. "I'm not built to be alone, Chris."

He laughs as he turns around to face me, and pulls me into his embrace. "No, you're really not."

I was half kidding when I said I wasn't built to be alone, but in this moment, pressed against him, it feels like I'm breathing again. Truth is, I despise being alone. The silence, the empty space—it suffocates me. I crave noise, music, and the presence of others.

A shaky breath escapes my lips as I squeeze him close, my chest aching. "I really did miss you," I whisper against his hoodie, my voice barely audible over the thumping of my heart. I don't think I'll be able to bear it when he eventually has to leave again.

"Me too," he murmurs, pressing a light kiss to my hair. "Most people in London like to go to sleep early."

I blink away the tears that threaten to spill, a laugh bubbling out of me. I pull back to look up at him. "You mean, they're normal and don't like to stay awake until five in the morning?"

Chris scoffs, a smile playing on his lips as he wipes his thumb over my cheek. "I'd much rather be weird with you than normal with anyone else."

God, my heart feels like it's being torn. I love him so much. More than words can express. More than I can understand. More than he'll ever understand.

"Fair warning," I say, reluctantly pulling away from him. "I don't know if you remember, but I'm not exactly the best when it comes to baking, or cooking, or anything involving a stove." The urge to return to his arms is overwhelming, but it's a dangerous place to be. It stirs up emotions I shouldn't entertain, clouding my thoughts. I rarely think clearly, but with Chris, it's crucial.

"I remember," he chuckles, running a hand through his hair. "So, that hasn't changed in four years?"

Four years. It always catches me off guard how long it's been. It feels like it was just yesterday that we were in my parents kitchen. "I think I've regressed," I admit, scrunching my nose.

He chuckles. "How is that even possible? You almost burned down your house at one point."

Yeah. That was a fun night. We were high, and wanted to make brownies, which wasn't the best combination mixing weed and ovens, especially when it comes to me. But the point is, no one died, so… I consider that a win in my books.

"Madi cooked when she lived here, and when she didn't, we had takeout." I hold my hands up. "I don't attempt things I know I suck at."

He shoots me a look. "You could never suck at anything."

"Well…" I tease with a smirk.

Chris scoffs, shaking his head as he turns around to grab some more ingredients. Watching him move around my kitchen feels surreal. It's like we've stepped back in time, and for a moment, everything feels right again. He pulls out the flour and eggs, placing them on the counter.

"Found them," he announces, casting a quick glance in my direction. "Can I trust you to crack eggs?"

I push off the island, sidling up beside Chris. "Sure," I say with a shrug. "When has a little shell ever hurt anyone?" I tease, flashing him a playful grin.

His brow raises, and he chuckles. "I'll tell you what." He cracks two eggs into the bowl, shooting me a sideways glance. "Why don't you just sit down, and I'll take care of this."

I shoot him a grateful grin. "That's why I love you."

I watch Chris expertly add ingredients to the bowl, memories flooding my mind. I've said those three words to him before. So many times I can't even count. I think of all the times I didn't mean it like I do now. How those three little words held a completely different meaning back then.

He lets out a soft laugh, his eyes meeting mine. "Yeah."

And how he'll never know how different those three little words mean to me now.