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“I didn’t.” He gestures to the pan in front of him. “This was in your fridge.”
No. That can’t be. There was nothing in there last night except for an old jar of mayonnaise and some sad-looking grapes. Sliding off the stool, I cross the kitchen and open the fridge, gasping at the contents.
Milk. Butter. More apples. White fish. Something green in a bag, and randomly, a box of cereal.
“I didn’t buy this,” I say, my voice quiet, tinged with disbelief.
“Maybe one of Pops’ friends dropped it over while you were sleeping?” Kiernan wraps his hands around his mug and brings it to his lips.
“No one has a key but you and me.”
The unease that keeps creeping up on me appears once again. A shiver runs down my spine and I tighten my hands together in front of me.
Kiernan steps closer, dropping his voice. “What are you saying, Cass?”
“That someone put those groceries in my house.”
Kiernan sighs, puts down his mug and then places a hand on each of my cheeks. He’s one of the only people whose touch I can handle, mostly because I trust him and he knows that I like firm touches and not soft, light brushes against my skin.
“You’re tired, Cass, and you’re under a lot of stress. It’s totally understandable that you’re forgetting things.”
I shake my head, his hands still on my face.
“I’m not.”
I know I’m not.
He smiles, and it’s soft and full of affection. “People generally don’t break in to leave things behind.” He chuckles, which makes me chuckle too. He has a point. What an odd thing to do – break into someone’s house to leave breakfast cereal in their fridge. “Hey,” he adds, “maybe it was my mum. She’s been worried about you lately and she could have borrowed my key.”
“That’s probably it,” I say, feeling a little more relaxed at what is a reasonable explanation. “You can stop touching my face now.”
Kiernan grins, then squeezes my cheeks.
“But it’s such a pretty face.”
I laugh. “Have I ever told you that you’re the worst flirt in the world?”
Kiernan releases me. “Please. My flirting is on point. You’re the one who sucks at it.”
Shrugging, I reply, “You’re not wrong. But you can’t deny I have more than enough game to have you wanting in these pants.” I pat my thighs and he barks out a laugh, shaking his head.
“You’re far too much brat, and not enough Daddy for my liking.”
“Jesus, Kee. You and your Daddy kink.” While I don’t share that kink with him, my deepest fantasies do include me on my knees for an older man, him gripping my hair tightly as he drags my face to his crotch and tells me I’m his good boy. Maybe I’d call him Sir, and he’d hold me after and let me lie with him until the world around me quieted. I’ve known since I was in high school that I’m attracted to men and women, but I’ve never actually been with a man. Fantasised plenty, but never enjoyed so much as a kiss.
There was a time not too long ago where I considered taking a trip into our nearest city to visit a gay bar and see if I could meet someone who’d be interested in taking a lonely baker to bed, but I never did and now I don’t know that I ever will.
The thought adds yet another layer of sadness to my already fragile, lonely heart.
Maybe I should sell this place.
My stomach sinks. I could never do that. I would never.
I sip my tea, and Kiernan tells me some gossip he overheard at the post office and his theory around it. He’s so full of shit that I can’t help but smile fondly. For a moment, I could almost forget about the nightmares, the mounting bills, my lonely existence and the random groceries that arrived in the night.
Almost.
NINE
