Into Your Arms (Squad Stories #1)(39)
Do you miss me? Do you think about me? Do you regret giving me up?
Someday I'll know. And I can't move on until I do.
Rhett
Sleep is next to impossible. Every time I hear any sort of sound, I think it's going to be her. A very small part of me imagines a scene where she knocks on my door and asks to stay with me, but that part of me is an idiot because that is never going to happen.
At last I get to sleep, but my alarm goes off a few hours later. I'm almost afraid to get up and see if she's there, but I do and tiptoe out to the living room to find the couch empty and my blanket folded up across the back of the couch. I sigh and walk over.
Oh, she left a note on the back of mine in her loopy handwriting.
Thanks for letting me crash. I woke up and decided to go home. Thanks for dinner. I'll see you tomorrow. Or today. Whichever it is when you read this.
-Freya
My heart jumps a little bit at the thought of her writing this. Even though she's not here. My alarm goes off again, reminding me that I need to get my ass down to the field house for our morning run. If I don't book it, I'm going to be late.
I smile at the note and run to get changed.
* * *
"Hey," Freya says when I finally get there. I'm a little bit late, but everyone is stretching. It's a brisk morning and I can see my breath in smoky whorls when I exhale.
"Hey," I say, a little shocked that she's talking to me. She usually doesn't and I think she likes it that way. Freya is not a morning person and I respect that.
"Did you make your pancakes?" she asks, cracking her back.
"No. I woke up late and had to rush. I'm going back to make them." She looks at me for a few moments and then nods.
"I'll bring some orange juice." And then she's off running and I'm standing there wondering what the hell changed and how I missed it.
* * *
I catch up to her and fall into pace beside her. Since my legs are so much longer, I slow quite a bit. She hates running, which I also know. It amazes me that she's here every morning, without fail, even though she despises it.
Just shows how much she truly loves cheer.
"Sorry I left," she pants. "I felt weird. But then I kinda regretted it." The cold air makes my lungs burn. It's going to suck running out here in a few weeks. If it snows, we'll have to take these workouts inside to the treadmill. I wouldn't mind doing that now. As long as Freya was on the treadmill beside me.
"It's fine," I say with a smile. "I figured you would. But you can still come over for pancakes. Anytime." She gives me a tentative smile and then bites her bottom lip a little.
Fucking hell. She shouldn't be allowed to be so cute.
"Cool," she says and we fall into running again. We exchange a word here and there, but we mostly focus until we get back to the field house.
"Do you mind if I go home and shower and then come over?" she says as we head to our cars.
"Not at all. See you in a few." I give her a little wave and she gives me one back, and I can't help the goofy fucking smile I have on my face as I drive home.
* * *
I'm in the process of mixing up pancake batter (from scratch) and deciding on whether or not to add chocolate chips when there's a knock at my door. That was fast.
"Hey," she says, her hair freshly washed, blow dried and pulled back.
"Come on in," I say and she does, carrying a bag.
"Okay, I brought orange and cranberry, because I like to mix them together. Is that weird?"
"Not at all." My heart thumps at having her here again. She comes in and sets the bag down on the kitchen counter.
"Question," I say, holding up the bag of chocolate chips. "Chips or no?" She hops up on the counter and gives me a look as if I've said something ridiculous.
"Chips. Duh." I laugh and start dumping them in.
"Good enough?" I ask and she nods. I hold the bag of chocolate chips out to her and she reaches for them, popping a few into her mouth.
"Pre-breakfast snack," she says.
"Solid plan." I get the griddle pan (yet another yard-sale find) set up, and Freya comes over to hover at my elbow and watch me.
"I always burn my pancakes. Or don't cook them enough and they fall apart when I try to flip them. I feel like I'm pancake cursed," she says. I laugh.
"I don't think that's a thing, Freya, but if you want, I can give you pancake lessons." I cook most things well, but I take special pride in my pancakes.
"It's better to have a lower heat than a higher one. Because you need it to heat evenly, and if it's too hot, then one side cooks faster than the other." I look to see if she thinks I'm being patronizing, but she just watches and nods. I go on, talking about the right amount of butter to use and when to flip. I turn the pancakes over and they're just the right amount of brown on the other side.