CAMILLA

CAMILLA

“Good morning.”

I started at him, unsure of exactly what I was looking at.

Then it hit me: the smell.

Warm and savory, the scent of something cooking drifted through the air…eggs, maybe toast. It was so out of place… he was out of place here.

I moved, the motion sending a fresh wave of pain through my skull and a queasiness to my stomach. I groaned again, slower this time, trying to steady myself.

“Morning,” I mumbled hoarsely, my voice barely more than a croak.

He was standing by the stove, his back to me, a pan in one hand and a spatula in the other. His shirt was untucked, the fabric clinging to his broad shoulders in a way that made him seem even larger than usual. In my tiny kitchen, he looked impossibly big, like he didn’t belong there, yet somehow…he fit.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice weak but laced with confusion.

Nathan glanced over his shoulder, his profile catching the morning light.

His hair was a little messy, like he hadn’t bothered to fix it, and there was a faint shadow of stubble on his jaw. He looked more human than I had ever seen him and it made my heart thump painfully.

“Making you breakfast,” he said simply, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You are…making me breakfast?” I repeated, stepping further into the room. My feet were bare against the cool floor, and I pulled the blanket tighter around me. “Why?”

He turned back to the stove, scraping the eggs onto a plate with quiet efficiency.

“I figured you would be hungry,” he said. “And hungover. You drank a lot last night.” He raised his eyebrow at this and cast me a look.

I blinked, heat creeping up my neck as I remembered flashes of the night before…too many tequila shots, Nathan’s steady hand on my arm as I stumbled through the door, the way he had helped me and I had offered that he slept over because of the car.

“You did not have to do this,” I muttered, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and something I did not want to put a name to.

“I know,” he replied, setting the pan down and reaching for a slice of toast. “But I wanted to.”

His words were simple, but they hit me harder than I expected. I did not know what to say, so I just stood there, watching him.

He moved with a kind of quiet confidence, like he had done this a hundred times before. Nathan didn’t belong here—did not belong with me.

He had made that absolutely clear and I was only just waiting for my foolish heart to catch up.

“Do you…need any help?” I asked awkwardly, my voice breaking the silence.

“No,” he said firmly, turning to look at me. His dark eyes were steady, calm, but there was something unreadable in them.

“Just sit down and drink the water on the counter.”

I glanced at the counter, noticing the glass of water for the first time. “What’s in it?”

“Electrolytes,” he replied, his tone matter-of-fact.

“It will help with the nausea.”

I hesitated, my hand hovering over the glass. “How did you—”

“Figure out you are nauseous?” he interrupted, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“It is not hard to tell. You have been holding your stomach since you woke up.”

My cheeks flushed as I realized he was right and it made me feel sort of exposed.

“Just drink it, Camilla,” he said, his voice softening. “It will help, trust me” he murmured

Trust him?

I had and look where that had gotten me!

A shattered heart.

I picked up the glass and took a small sip, the faint citrus flavor soothing against my dry throat. I slid onto a stool by the counter, clutching the glass like it was a lifeline.

Nathan turned back to the stove, his movements efficient and precise. He finished slicing an avocado, placing it carefully on a piece of toast before turning to the blender. The quiet hum filled the room again as he poured a banana smoothie into a tall glass.

I watched him, my head still pounding but my chest feeling strangely warm. He didn’t belong here, in my kitchen, cooking me breakfast and taking care of me. He had made that clear enough—no strings, no complications. And yet here he was, breaking his own rules without a word of explanation.

The confusion twisted in my chest, tangling with something softer, something I didn’t want to name.

Nathan carried the plate and smoothie over, setting them down in front of me with the kind of care that made my throat tighten. “Eat,” he said, his voice low but firm.

I stared at the food for a moment, my hands trembling slightly as I picked up the fork. The eggs were warm and fluffy, the toast perfectly crisp, the avocado creamy and rich. It was simple, but it was perfect.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Nathan leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said, his gaze flicking to me briefly before looking away.

But I did.

Because this wasn’t nothing. This was everything.

I took another bite, the taste of the food making my eyes close with pleasure.

“That good?” He chuckled.

“Amazing” I croaked. “I had no idea you could cook so good” I commented.

“You have no idea about a lot of things about me, Camilla” he murmured.

My throat closed up at this.

He was right

But there was one thing I knew

He wanted nothing to do with me.

Silence fell after his statement and it stretched, heavy with unspoken words. I put the fork down, my hands trembling slightly. “Nathan,” I started, my voice hesitant.

“Don’t,” he said quietly, cutting me off. His eyes met mine then, dark and intense. “Just eat, Camilla. You don’t have to think about anything else right now.”

But how could I not think about it? About him? About the way he had held me steady last night, the way he was here now, cooking me breakfast like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It did not make sense.

And it wasn’t fair to me at all.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Nathan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because you need it,” he said simply.

“That is not an answer,” I said, my voice trembling.

“It is the only one you are getting,” he replied, his tone final.

I stared at him, my chest tightening as a thousand questions swirled in my head. But I did not ask them. I just couldn’t.

So I picked up the fork again and focused on the food, letting the warmth of it soothe me. The headache was still there, dull but persistent, and my stomach still felt a little uneasy, but it was better.

Nathan didn’t move from his spot by the counter, his arms still crossed, his gaze flicking to me every so often like he was making sure I was okay.

It was too much.

Too intimate.

Too confusing.

But I couldn’t think about it…not now, not with my head pounding and my heart aching in ways I didn’t understand.

So I ate, and Nathan stayed. And for a moment, it was enough.