"Taylor?" the woman called tentatively up the stairs. "Breakfast is ready."

He was a hulking teenager, with bulging muscles that scared her. Was it good for a fifteen year-old to be so athletic? Wasn't there some danger that he'd stunt his muscles? Cara made a mental note to look it up as she placed his scrambled eggs in front of him.

"Eat up while it's hot," she said softly, returning to tend to the coffee.

Easier to stir sugar and heat up milk than look at him. His eyes were flat, pitch black. She felt naked when he focused them on her.

"You don't have to do this, you know," he said suddenly.

"Do what?"

Her hands trembled as she placed the coffee in front of him, and she hid them in her pockets so her nervousness wouldn't show. He had to trust her, trust that she knew what she was doing.

"Pretend," he grunted, taking a large bite of eggs after carefully scrutinising the plate.

She knew she should do something - take his hand, maybe. But he scared her.

"I'm not," she said, forcing calm into her voice. "Believe me. You're safe here. Wanted."

He looked up so sharply she withdrew, her heart beating. Inwardly, she reprimanded herself. She should be hugging him, confidently. Welcoming him to his new home. Not cowering from him.

Suddenly, his eyes softened. They looked a warm shade of dark brown, now.

"You actually mean that," he chuckled. "Well. Miracles do happen, I guess. Single moms looking for troubled teens. You should write a book."

She sat, dumfounded, as he suddenly got up to pour her coffee.

"Relax," he said, as he placed it in front of her. "I can always tell when people are lying, you know. You mean what you say. So trust me on this - I won't hurt you."

She saw the warmth in his eyes, tentative though it seemed. The slightly strained smile, as if he was unpracticed. She took his rough, callused hand on his impulse. His eyes widened in surprise.

"Neither will I," she said, giving it a squeeze.