Donovan hands me a piping hot cup of coffee and kisses me, long and deep. “Good morning, beautiful. How’d you sleep?” He turns to flip pancakes in the pan.
“I doubt that was sleeping. I kind of just passed out. I slept like the dead.” I giggle into my mug.
“Donovan, I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to get that… rough. I’ve never done that before. I’m sorry if I crossed a line—especially since we’ve never talked about anything like that.”
He sets the spatula down and crosses the kitchen in two strides. His fingers tilt my chin up until I’m looking at him. “Do not apologize for anything, Stella. You didn’t do anything wrong.You had a fantasy. We made it real. If I didn’t like it, I would’ve stopped you.” He kisses me, then pulls me into a hug.
“I’m walking beside you in this crazy life. I’ll explore anything and everything with you. I promise, if I ever want to stop or feel off, I’ll tell you. As long as you promise the same.” He kisses the top of my head, then moves to pour me a fresh cup of coffee.
“Donovan… maybe we should have something. A word. Not for sex. For life. For when it all feels like too much.”
Donovan’s brow quirks as he flips a pancake. “Yeah? What would yours be?”
I think for a moment, tracing the rim of my mug. “Gossamer.”
“Gossamer?” He repeats it like he’s tasting it.
“It’s fragile. Barely there. Like a thread that could snap if I’m not careful.”
He watches me longer than necessary, eyes soft but calculating. “Okay. Then mine’s Iron.”
“Iron?”
“Yeah. Strong. Unbending. And”—he grins, flipping the pancake perfectly—“it’s what the football field’s called. The gridiron.”
I laugh. “Of course it is.”
“You say 'gossamer,' I’ll know you’re barely holding on. I say, ‘iron,’ you’ll know I’m stuck in my head.”
I nod. “Gossamer and iron. Deal.”
His hand cups my cheek. “Say it when you need to. No hesitation.”
“Deal.”
He kisses my forehead. “Deal.”
The weeks blur—school, my project, Donovan’s football schedule. Virginia Bay Prep has one game left before finals—a shot at the state championship. I’ve never seen Donovan so frazzled. Every free second, he’s hunched over his desk, the scratch of his pen filling the silence as he scribbles notes across scattered sheets of paper. His laptop glows with game footage on a loop, the muffled sound of whistles and crowd noise seeping into our evenings. His jaw flexes, shoulders tight, as if the weight of the whole season is balanced there. Even when he finally sits beside me, his knee bounces restlessly, his mind still on the field.
When the doorbell rings, the sharp chime rattles through the quiet house, making me flinch. Ansel sprints past me in a blur, socked feet sliding across the hardwood as she beelines for the door. That girl lives for answering doors. Meanwhile, I’d rather sink into the couch cushions and wait them out, heart thumping, hoping whoever it is just gives up and leaves.
She hauls the bags onto the table, the paper crinkling as cartons spill out in every direction. “Oh my god, Stella, you got Midnight Lotus!” She’s halfway through unpacking the ridiculous amount of takeout when she spots her prize. Her eyes light up like she’s just discovered buried treasure. “I could fucking kiss your face right now. Come here.”
She chases me around the kitchen, hair flying, eyes bright, laughter spilling out as she waves the Dragon’s Kiss Roll overhead like it’s the Holy Grail. Chopsticks rattle against the box while I duck out of reach, half laughing, half horrified.
“Wait, wait—Ansel’s kissing Stella now? When did this become a thing?” Donovan steps into the kitchen, laptop in hand, his voice cutting straight through our laughter.
“I just happen to know Stella is very proficient with that tongue of hers,” Ansel fires back with a dramatic wink.
Donovan blinks, looking personally attacked. “Excuse me? When did this happen?” He grabs three sodas from the fridge, the hiss of cans cracking open filling the room.
“Oh my god, Ansel! It was one kiss. Don’t make it sound like I gave you an oral presentation!” I groan, covering my face.
Donovan yanks me closer, the edge of the counter biting into the backs of my thighs as he lifts me up, trailing hot kisses down my neck.
“Can you give me an oral presentation?” he murmurs with a grin.
“Don’t be so crass,” I scold, nudging him away. “Ansel’s right here—unless you want her to join.”
