CHAPTER FIVE
Sunday morning. No coffee on the counter.
Lira woke confused. Then she heard sounds from the kitchen. Movement. Someone cooking.
She walked out in her pajamas. Hair messy. Eyes half open.
Kael stood at the stove. He was making eggs. He wore sweatpants and a t-shirt. She had never seen him in anything but a suit.
"You cook now?" she asked.
"I'm learning." He gestured to the pan. "The eggs might be terrible."
She leaned against the counter and watched him. He was focused. Determined. He flipped the eggs carefully, like they were important documents.
He put a plate in front of her. The eggs were slightly burned. The toast was cold.
She took a bite.
"Perfect," she said.
He almost smiled. "Liar."
"You're right. But you tried. That's what matters."
He sat beside her with his own plate. They ate together. Burned eggs and cold toast. It was the best breakfast she could remember.
---
After breakfast, he asked if she wanted to see the studio again. She said yes.
They went to floor 85. The empty room. Sunlight pouring in.
She walked around the space. Measuring with her eyes. Imagining possibilities.
"I could put a desk here," she said. "By the window. And shelves along that wall. And a table for spreading out large drawings."
He listened. He nodded.
"Whatever you need," he said. "Just tell Elena."
She turned to him. "Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?"
"Being kind. Giving me things. Making me breakfast."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he looked at her directly.
"Because no one has ever looked at me the way you do," he said. "Like I'm worth seeing."
She crossed the room. She stood close to him.
"You are worth seeing," she said.
He reached up. Slowly. Like he was afraid. He touched her face. Just for a moment.
Then he stepped back.
"We should go," he said. "I have work."
He left quickly. She stood in the sunlight and touched her cheek where his fingers had been.
---
That afternoon, she visited her father.
Antonio was doing well. Walking without the cane for short distances. The doctors were optimistic.
She told him about the studio. About the burned eggs. About the way Kael touched her face and then ran away.
Her father listened. He smiled.
"He's scared," Antonio said.
"Of what?"
"Of feeling something. Of wanting something. Of losing it once he has it."
She sat on the edge of his bed.
"What do I do?"
Her father took her hand. "You wait. You be patient. You show him that wanting things is not weakness. It's courage."
She nodded. She hoped she was brave enough.
---
That night, Kael came home late. After midnight.
She was in the kitchen. Sitting in the dark. Waiting.
He stopped in the doorway.
"You're awake," he said.
"I couldn't sleep."
He sat beside her at the counter. Same spot. Same dark. Same almost-touching shoulders.
"I'm sorry," he said. "For this morning. I shouldn't have-"
"You should have."
He looked at her.
"You should have touched my face," she said. "You should have stayed."
He was quiet.
"I don't know how to do this," he said. "I don't know how to want something and not be terrified."
"Me neither. But we can learn together."
He looked at her for a long time. Then he reached out again. He took her hand.
"Okay," he said. "Together."
---
They sat like that for an hour. Holding hands in the dark.
When she finally went to bed, she felt something she had not felt in years.
Hope.