For me, Tobias was the only one who cooked for me. So when I saw that Mr. Atticus was standing in my kitchen, cooking a meal. It was hard for me to digest it. And even harder for me to embrace it. So I stood up and walked closer to him. His attention was on the veggies he was cutting.
His white shirt had its sleeves rolled up. And his unwavering attention to cooking only made me shift closer to him. My fingers caressed his clothed back. And he froze under my touch, my eyes looking at his face, trying to collect his reaction. He looked back at me, nodding his head, telling me it was okay with him. My touch was okay with him. My fingers squeezed his shoulders and his eyes clenched shut.
"Can I help, Pheonix?" I asked him and his eyes jerked open at my question. He tilted his face enough
