Chapter 301: Close Enough to Touch
Micah freshened up, running a towel over his damp hair before tossing it aside. The quiet in the condo was unnerving, too still. He paused at the bottom of the stairs, scanning the open living room.
No voices, no footsteps, not even the hum of a TV.
He frowned, his gaze drifting toward the glass doors leading to the deck. Through the glare of sunlight on the glass, he spotted Clyde. The man was seated casually on a deck chair, one ankle crossed over the other, a mug in hand. Even through the glass, the faint murmur of his voice carried as he spoke into the phone.
Micah lingered where he was, hesitant to interrupt. For a second, he just watched, Clyde’s fingers curled lazily around the mug, his brow relaxed, the faint curve of his lips suggesting whatever he was hearing pleased him.
Micah pursed his lips. For once, he actually wished those noisy friends of Clyde’s or even Emile and his cousins were around to ease the suffocating awkwardness between them. But the deck and living room were empty except for Clyde.
He exhaled slowly, shoving his hands into his pants pockets, and turned on his heel to the kitchen. First food, thinking later. His stomach grumbled in agreement.
He opened the fridge, grabbing milk and a pack of bread. The bread slid into the toaster with a mechanical click, and he poured the milk into a mug before setting it in the SolarDom to warm. The rotating mug inside caught his eye, and before he knew it, his thoughts were drifting, his gaze fixed but unfocused.
He didn’t even notice the deck door sliding open.
Clyde stepped inside, sliding his phone into his pocket. His eyes went straight to Micah, who stood motionless, staring at the slow spin of the mug as if he were hypnotised. A faint curl of smoke rose from the toaster slot, carrying with it the sharp smell of overdone bread.
"Seriously?" Clyde muttered under his breath, striding over. He pulled the toast out before it could turn into pure charcoal, setting it on a plate with a soft clink.
The sound snapped Micah out of his trance. He jerked around, meeting Clyde’s gaze head-on. There it was, that annoying glint of amusement in the man’s eyes. "What?" Micah said, his voice sharper than intended.
Clyde arched a brow, lips twitching. "What were you thinking, not noticing the burning smell?"
Micah looked at the burned bread on the plate, then turned his head away, ears heating. "Nothing important." The faint blush creeping up his neck betrayed him.
Clyde took a step forward.
Micah’s body reacted before his brain caught up; he jolted, stepping back fast. "What are you doing?"
Clyde paused. "I want to get the pan," he said evenly, reaching past Micah to pull it from the cabinet behind him. "Aren’t you hungry? I’ll make a quick omelette."
Micah cursed him silently. Of course. He had to play the generous host now. He bet the man had done it on purpose.
He snatched his mug of milk from the SolarDom and retreated to a safe distance, leaning on the far side of the kitchen island.
But the distance didn’t help much, not when the dream from last night kept replaying in his head like a broken record. Clyde’s voice in that dream... the way he had leaned in, gaze heavy, lips only inches away...
Micah shook his head, trying to erase the mental image from his mind.
"So, where is everyone?" Micah asked gruffly, sipping his milk.
Clyde cracked eggs into a bowl, whisking with ease. "They all went fishing."
But in fact, Clyde had deliberately sent every last one of them away that morning, forcing them to reflect on their behaviour, and to stay the hell out of Micah’s and his way.
Clyde didn’t want another episode of someone opening their big mouth and causing trouble like yesterday.
He had woken feeling surprisingly refreshed, with no nightmares or occasional restlessness that often plagued him. It reminded him of the time Micah had stayed at his place.
He had slipped out of the room quietly, letting Micah sleep. But downstairs, he had found the group of idiots waiting like vultures, ready to interrogate him about the previous night.
His mood had soured instantly. He ordered them all to go fishing and not come back until they caught twenty fish. The task was almost impossible, but that was the point. They had to pay for the mess they had caused yesterday.
From his niece and nephews to his friends, all of them were responsible. The only one spared was Soha, who was holed up in her room doing God knew what.
Back in the kitchen, Clyde poured the beaten eggs into the pan. The sound of sizzling filled the kitchen. He folded the omelette with a flick of his wrist and slid it onto a plate, then set it on the table. "Dig in," he said simply.
Micah stood up and moved to the table, sitting quickly. He grabbed the fork and jabbed it into the delicate omelette roll without hesitation, shoving a bite unceremoniously into his mouth.
"How is it?" Clyde asked, settling into the seat across from him.
Micah chewed, giving him a sideways look. "What? Fishing for a compliment?" His smirk was brief before it melted into a faint huff. "I’ve had better."
Clyde leaned back, unbothered. His gaze was locked on Micah. Then, without warning, he reached forward, his hand moving toward Micah’s face.
Micah nearly choked, the fork clattering lightly against the plate. His mind instantly flashed to the dream. "What the hell?"
Clyde blinked, caught off guard by Micah’s reaction. "Hold still." His fingers brushed near Micah’s chin, not his lips, and when he pulled back, a tiny speck of egg was balanced on his fingers.
"It was stuck on your chin," Clyde explained, a hint of confusion in his voice.
Micah’s eyes darted from the speck of egg to Clyde’s fingers, then up to his face. Heat rose rapidly under his skin.
It was the dream’s fault, entirely the dream’s fault, that his mind had gone there. That stupid dream! He had thought Clyde was about to touch his lips or worse...
Micah quickly dropped his gaze, stabbing another piece of omelette as if blaming it for sticking to his chin.