Seven

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I wake up the next morning feeling like I barely slept. That probably couldn't have been fixed no matter what, though. Rowan did the best he could from over the phone.

Someone is puttering around in the kitchen when I finally get off of the couch and shuffle over to the bathroom. I wander into the room shortly after and find that it's Jacob making pancakes. It's quite possibly the messiest I've ever seen a kitchen look during the process of making them, but I'm not going to judge they guy in his own home. It's honestly kind of impressive that he managed to use as many bowls are spoons as he has so far for something so simple.

Thomas slides into the kitchen a few moments later. He pecks Jacob on aggressively on the cheek, to which Jacob rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

"Get the syrup, will you?" Jacob says.

"Who, me?" Thomas replies, smirking slightly as he leans back against the marble countertop.

"Yes, you, you menace," Jacob replies. "Especially considering you're the one who woke me up at ten a.m. to demand that I 'get my fine ass in the kitchen' to make them."

Thomas's cheeks flame pink before he turns and opens the refrigerator door without a word. He places the bottle of maple syrup on the kitchen table a few paces away as I watch, amused.

"Powdered sugar?" he asks.

"Is that even a question?" Jacob replies. It's Thomas's turn to roll his eyes, grabbing the fancy porcelain container and a sifter spoon.

"You want fruit on them or anything?" he continues, and it takes me a moment to realize he's talking to me this time.

"Oh, no, this is fine," I reply.

"Good," Thomas says as he breezes back into the kitchen. "When was the last time you even had fresh fruit, old man? This place is like a bachelor pad from hell."

A shadow passes across Jacob's face, there one moment and gone the next. He plates the next pancake on the large stack he's accumulated a little more aggressively than necessary.

"Maybe if I had a reason to have them here," he grumbles lowly. "Not like I live with an athlete or anything."

I force myself to rip my gaze away from either of them, staring back into the living room where a Disney Channel TV show is playing on screen. I've somehow managed to stumble into a sore spot for the couple, and I don't think I'd like it very much if someone was sitting there judging Rowan and I during a tense conversation. This isn't even an argument, just a lighthearted conversation that's taken a turn into tense sentences that say something much more than what is being uttered. I don't know what would be more awkward: being caught in a screaming match or this unspoken thing that's so obviously been an issue in the past.

Neither of them say anything for a few seconds. Something winds its way between my feet and I look down, smiling a bitwhen I realize that it's Fish.

"We're really gonna do this right now?" Thomas says finally.

"No, we're not," Jacob replies. There's the click of metal of marble as he sets the spatula down. "Sorry."

"I get what—" Thomas begins, but Jacob cuts him off. I can just barely see him waving a hand out of the corner of my eye.

"No, seriously, it's not an issue," Jacob says. "It's early. You know I'd love to have you here all the time, but I know why I can't."

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