30 ⦿ in which domesticity doesn't suit us

The day after we meet Liza is Graeme and Xander's engagement dinner. Wolf's been in the kitchen since he woke up, I assume, or at least since I woke up. Waking up to the banging of steel pots and pans on a lazy Saturday morning isn't my idea of a great wake up call. As the cacophony increases, so does my need to go offer to help.

Stifling it down, I bury my head under my pillow and groan. A quick glance at my cell phone tells me it's almost eleven a.m., high time I got out of bed, but as I sprawl in the luxurious queen-sized bed, productivity is the last thing on my mind.

After lazing about for another ten minutes, I realize the noise in the kitchen has receded into a suspicious silence. "Wolf?"

A pause. "Yeah?" he calls back.

"What's going on?"

"Just cooking."

"I don't smell anything."

Another pause. "Wanna help?"

There's an endearing note of desperation in his voice. I smile into my pillow. "Give me five minutes," I shout, swinging my legs out of bed and shivering as I leave the warmth of the blankets.

A quick trip to the bathroom later, I emerge with squeaky-clean breath, tangle-free hair, and an oversize university sweatshirt. My hair is cooperating with me this morning, even though it's not straightened. I gave it a quick flip upside down and brushed it vigorously to give myself some volume, and as I pass my reflection in the hall mirror, I grin when I see my success.

"Wow," Wolf says when I enter the kitchen. "I don't think I've ever seen you look that unflattering before."

"Thanks." I roll my eyes. "Okay, what do you want me to do?" I glance at the mess he's made on his formerly sparkling marble countertop. "Clean up duty, chopping?" I suggest.

"I didn't mean it in a bad way," he protests. "Seriously. You look good."

"I haven't showered and I have no makeup on," I inform him flatly.

"I know," he says, voice soft. Soft enough to make me look at him. His eyes are tender and almost wistful, like he means what he says.

Feeling self-conscious, I chuckle. "Yeah, thanks." I rub my lips together in a nervous gesture, looking away. "So what're we making?"

"Something way too ambitious for my limited repertoire of skills," he huffs.

"I thought the fridge was empty?"

"I went to the market early this morning." He gives his neck a sheepish rub. "I didn't think you wanted to wake up early, so I didn't ask you to come."

"No, that was smart." I offer him a crooked smile. "You beat the crowds."

"I like waking up early," he says, even though I didn't ask him. "There's something about New York in the morning, you know? The glow cast over Central Park, the hint of orange on the horizon, peeping out over the tops of the buildings. The stillness. Just people walking their dogs or hustling to their cars."

What he's divulged feels intimate, like he's giving me a part of himself that he doesn't often speak about. Something soft and sentimental, poignant and poetic.

"That's beautiful," I murmur. "I guess I never looked at it that way. It's always seemed so"—I struggle to find the word—"I don't know, crazy?" I watch as he sifts through a bag of small red potatoes. "There's something so giddy about New York. Like everywhere you turn there's a hundred different things going on. It fills me with nervous energy, like I always have to be doing something so I'm not wasting New York. It's stupid." I stop talking, wanting to kick myself for babbling like a freak to him.

Instead, I find that he's grinning at me. "I get it, Charlotte." He moves to the sink and starts scrubbing, his hands moving over the skin of the potatoes in rough, tantalizing strokes. "That's the charm of the city, I think. It's not just a place. It's a feeling. It's a thousand feelings. And everyone feels it. Everything feels connected here. Everything feels infinite."

"Would you ever live anywhere else?" I don't know what makes me ask, except that now we're on the topic, and he doesn't seem averse to speaking frankly.

"I don't know." He pauses in mid-scrub, letting the warm water cascade over his hands.

Moving to his assistance, I cross the distance between us in five short steps and turn off the tap.

He shoots me a smile of thanks and dumps the potatoes on the wooden cutting board. "I'll start chopping these into fourths if you cut the onion?" he suggests.

"What a gent," I tease, grabbing a knife from the knife stand. I brandish at him in jest. "Makin' a girl cry first thing in the morning."

"You're tough," is his immediate response. "You can take it."

Can I, though? I suppose that's the question of the hour. I watch as he studiously cuts each potato in careful fourths, taking care to make them all the same size. There's so much about him that I don't know, so much that I would love to uncover, just like I'm peeling away the crusty outer layers of the onion now.

The question isn't if he's worth knowing. I already know the answer to that. The question is whether I can handle what comes next. What comes after we're more than just roommates. What happens when we actually make this real.

I put the onion down. "What is this to you?"

"What do you mean?" He doesn't look up from the potatoes.

"I kissed you."

Finally, he looks flustered. Wolfram sets the knife down and stares at me. "I know."

"You kissed me back," I point out, just in case he needs a reminder.

He grits his teeth. "I know."

"You also asked me to marry you. You absconded with my stuff"—I clench my fists—"and you took me to one of your favorite places to eat." I pause, letting that sink in. "And you left it at that."

"What did you want me to do?" His eyebrow furrows.

"I'm just saying, you broke my heart, you asked me to marry you, then I moved in with you, then we had our first date, then I kissed you? It's all backwards, Wolf. All of it."

He looks stunned. Hell, even I'm stunned. I wasn't expecting all those words to come out of my mouth. I'm not angry, I'm not sad, I just need to say all of it, and I need him to hear it.

"You made it sound like you wanted us to have something real when you came back into my life." My voice is quiet now. "You're showing me who you are. The way you live. The things you like."

"And that's not enough?" He lifts an eyebrow, confusion settling over his face.

"It would be, if it's real. It would be a start, at least."

He frowns. "I'm not playing games with you, Charlotte."

"If you want us to be like, married roomies with benefits, then tell me. But if it's real, if there's any future for us"—I wring my hands—"then I need to know that, too." I suck in a breath. "Because it can't be real for me again unless you feel the same way. Otherwise, we need to just take a step back and agree not to let things blur."

Typical Wolf, he goes silent for a long moment like he's absorbing it all, then he picks out the one thing that's actually the most irrelevant in all that I just said. "When did I ever break your heart?"

"How is that what's important right now?" Aghast, I glower at him.

He grabs the onion that I'm not cutting and begins slicing it in large pieces. "We never—"

"I know we never dated."

He still doesn't look at me but his forehead creases. "Then how did I—"

Hastily, I interrupt. "You didn't. It was just, you know, an expression. I didn't mean it literally." Embarrassment makes me speak quickly, the words running together like a drunken slur. I want to kick myself. He didn't break my heart, not by a long shot, but he broke the part of me that wanted to believe in him—in Graeme, even—when I was naive and didn't realize troubled men didn't always make the best Prince Charmings - not even for the right princess.

"Okay." He says the word in a slow and measured voice, like he doesn't believe me, and his calmness is infuriating.

"Good," I snap. "Cut your own damn onions."

I turn to go, my cheeks flushed and my neck heated, but his hand on my upper arm stops me. "Charlotte."

I bite my lip and refuse to turn.

"Charlotte," he says again.

Now I turn, my eyes narrowed in apprehension.

His face crinkles in concern and his lips pull down into a frown. "Have I ever made you cry?"

My lips thin. "Obviously." And then I flee to my bedroom before I do it again.

Author's Note: I'm busily writing the next chapter for tomorrow, so don't be too upset that I left it at a bit of a kerfuffle between our two baes! Thank you for your support, and if you're a silent reader, please know that I would love to hear from you! :)