Chapter 9: Student

I woke up to the smell of burning toast.

Gray light filled the iron windows and the platform bed was empty beside me.

I pulled on his shirt and found him in the open kitchen, scowling at a smoking toaster with a dish towel over his shoulder.

"It's not on fire," he said.

"It's smoking."

"That's different."

"Is it?"

"I'm choosing to believe so."

I leaned on the counter and watched the great seducer of the ninth floor scrape a black square of bread into the sink.

"Anson. Can you cook anything?"

"Eggs."

"Show me."

He cracked three eggs into a pan and one of them landed on the stovetop.

I laughed so hard I had to hold the counter.

"Don't," he said, but the corner of his mouth was going.

"Six years I thought you were a man of mystery."

"I'm a man who burns water."

"Say it again."

"I burn water."

He turned from the stove, and the smile he'd been fighting broke across his face all at once.

It was the first time I'd seen it whole.

It rearranged him, and for a second I forgot what I'd been about to say.

"What?" he said.

"Nothing."

"Callie."

"You should do that more."

He shut off the burner.

He crossed the kitchen, set his hands on the counter on either side of my hips, and looked at me in his own shirt.

"Teach me something," he said.

"It's eight in the morning."

"I'm a slow learner."

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