One Cup of Daddy and a Dash of Love - Victoria Sue Page 0,18
fuzzy. When he’d woken up to go to the bathroom, he was tucked in with his teddy and the soft throw draped over the bed. The lamp was on and his phone was on charge, but he didn’t remember doing any of that.
The thought he felt safe enough to stay asleep amazed him, and a tiny part of him was sorry he didn’t get to hear Jensen read like the night before. Did that mean Jensen would think him rude or ungrateful? Dash looked up as the door opened and Jensen walked in, and his anxiety seemed to melt away. Jensen seemed so capable. He just had to walk into a room and it made Dash feel like everything was going to be okay. He wished…no. Jensen didn’t want a what? A lodger? A roommate? The very idea was ridiculous.
Jensen rubbed his strong, capable hands together and opened the fridge. “Mmm. I think bacon is in order.” He raised an eyebrow to Dash, but Dash wouldn’t have disagreed if he’d have said kangaroos were in order.
Well, okay. Maybe not that, but—
“And I can whip up some breakfast potatoes. Sweet potatoes are better for you as they’re complex carbohydrates.”
Dash sighed happily and watched as Jensen washed his hands, then looked over at him as if sensing he was looking and smiled. Dash jumped up quickly in case he thought he was just going to sit and do nothing while Jensen worked.
“How about you check out the coloring book Ellie left you?” Jensen said casually. “I like company while I cook.”
“I—” He did? Dash pulled the book and the pencils over to him thoughtfully. Jensen didn’t seem to be making fun of him. Gran used to have coloring books. She said it relaxed her, but until he’d seen Abigail yesterday, it had never occurred to him to do any before. Or rather it had, but he’d worried it might bring on a migraine, so he hadn’t bothered.
In no time Dash was just finishing off, and Jensen put a plate of food down in front of him. Bacon, some scrambled eggs, and some sweet potato wedges. There was even a small pot of fruit the same as he’d had last night. All cut up and everything. The way Jensen cooked things, the way he cut them and arranged them, they didn’t look so overwhelming, and Dash polished off everything.
Jensen reached over for his empty plate, but Dash started a little. “Please, let me. I’ll be careful.” Jensen hadn’t let him lift a finger yesterday.
Jensen glanced over, his big brown eyes warm and calm. “Okay, if you promise to stop if you feel dizzy or unwell.”
Dash nodded seriously. He didn’t want to get dizzy and drop something. “Would you like another cup of tea?”
“Please,” Jensen agreed and glanced out of the window as Dash hurried to put the kettle on. At least it had stopped raining. “Did you sleep well?”
Dash nodded shyly.
“It’s just I’m used to getting up early, but if you didn’t want to—”
“We used to get up to bake the bread for the shop,” Dash rushed out. “Or Gran would bake and I’d clean the store and set it all up for opening.”
“And you enjoyed that?” Jensen sounded doubtful.
“Gran used to say it was the best time of the day. The store smelled wonderful. At Christmas it was amazing.” Dash’s breath caught. “I arrived two summers ago.”
“I didn’t say,” Jensen said, “but I’m so sorry she died. I never knew your gran, but Ellie did and she liked her very much.”
Dash couldn’t bring himself to make words happen around his tight throat as he remembered coming home. He’d stood there for what seemed forever when he’d gotten off the bus. It had taken him two terrifying days to get there. He’d been exhausted, frightened, and hungry, and Gran had been just putting some cupcakes in the display as he’d walked in and she’d looked up and dropped them all.
They’d run at each other, crying and laughing, and her arms were as perfect around him as he’d remembered.
But they hadn’t even had two years together before Gran had the heart attack, and that was the real problem. It was his fault, must have been his fault. She’d been fit and healthy, and he was too much trouble. He tried to gulp a breath in, but none came. Panic hit him like ice water. He couldn’t force the air into his lungs. It was too hard to even—