Wildfire - H.S

17

Even though I may be the topic of conversation.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed until they hit the hardwood floor.

As I stand up, I stretch my whole body, yawning as I do so, still feeling a little tired from last night.

Slowly, I walk over to the pile of clothes laid over the back of Evie's chair, pulling my pair of trousers from underneath my shirt and stepping one leg at a time back into them.

I don't bother putting my shirt back on just yet.

Rather I take a seat in the chair at her vanity, looking at the photo frames sitting on top of it.

There are multiple, ones of her with a brunette that looks fairly recent -  probably her and Esme.

One with the little girl from next door.

One with someone who looks a lot like her mum, dad, and I assume brother.

I didn't know she had a brother.

And there's one, of a woman who looks a lot like Evie, rather the photo looks much older. In a ballet costume similar to the one on stage when I first met Evie.

Perhaps it's her grandmother she told me about.

I reach for one of the smaller frames that has a young Evie holding a fat black cat, running my fingertip across the rough surface of the vintage frame.

The sound of the door reopening startles me slightly.

Instinctively, I place the frame back where I picked it up from and shot up from the seat, rubbing my hands against my trouser leg.

And now I look suspicious.

"Sorry about that, she's gone now. How much did you hear?" She asks, walking forward to me, her arms crossed over her stomach.

"Let's just say, whenever I brush my teeth now, I'll have a very graphic image." I tease with a smile.

She clearly doesn't find it as funny as I do, because she lets out a small groan while leaning her forehead against my chest.

I reach for both sides of her head, pulling her face away from my body so her eyes meet mine.

"I'm just teasing." I whisper, not meaning to make her feel bad.

She gives a soft smile as I brush the loose hairs of her ponytail out of her face.

"Let me make you some breakfast. How'd pancakes sound?" I question, reaching for her hand to lead her out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

She doesn't resist. Instead just hums in agreement, taking my hand.

It's so weird to see the contrast between her fair empty skin compared to my inked, ring-clad hands.

I lead into the kitchen, immediately opening the fridge to take out the eggs and milk as well as a few different items of fruit, placing it all down on the counter before searching through the rest of the cupboards for the other ingredients as well as bowls, plates and frying pans.

Evie watches me contently, hopping up onto the counter next to the stove.

It's been a while since I've made pancakes.

Or anything for that matter. Being on tour means a lot of quick food and cooking is pretty much out of the question completely.

It's something I enjoy though.

Especially with the company. There's something special about cooking for someone.

It doesn't take much thinking to whip up a batch of pancakes. I guess it's just muscle memory.