He leans in to kiss me again, deep enough that my coffee nearly sloshes. I set the mug on the nightstand and run my hand over his chest. He laughs into my mouth, that low rumble I felt in my chest last night.
“Careful,” he says. “Hot liquids.”
“You be careful,” I shoot back, smiling.
His palm slides under the sheet to my bare skin, steady and warm. We stay pressed together against the headboard, kissing and touching until the rest of the world—buzzing phone and all—drops away.
When he finally eases back, he rests his forehead against mine. “Later,” he murmurs, voice rough.
“Later,” I echo, though my body already wants it now.
He steals one more kiss before reclaiming his mug. “Finish your coffee before it’s undrinkable.”
We sip side by side, legs stretched out, trading quiet looks that say more than words. He watches me like he’s memorizing every detail. I tuck a curl behind my ear.
“What?” I ask.
“Just you.” His voice is low. “I like you in my bed.”
The words settle deep in my chest. “Careful. I could get used to that.”
“So could I.”
It’s a small phrase, but the “could” catches my ears, just enough to get my attention, and I feel insecure again. I swallow it down with coffee.
He shifts, bumping my knee with his. “What are you doing later? There’s a farmers market a few blocks away. Cider, pumpkins, gourds the size of toddlers. I’ll carry the bags.”
The image makes me laugh. “You at a farmers market? That I need to see.”
“Then it’s a date.” He kisses me again, slower this time, until I forget the season, the city, everything but him.
We linger. He pauses, eyes moving over me like he’s surveying the scene.
“What?” I ask.
“Looks right,” he mutters, then smirks. “Also, I make decent eggs. You want breakfast before we go?”
“You cook?”
“I scramble. It’s part of my leadership package.”
“Show me, Captain.”
I grab a hoodie from the couch and pull it over my head. It covers me down to my thighs.
In the kitchen he moves with practiced ease, bare feet on cool tile, pulling eggs and butter from the fridge. I perch on a stool, swimming in his hoodie, and watch. He keeps glancing at me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.
The phone rattles once more on the counter. He doesn’t look, just finishes stirring the pan with one hand while squeezing mine with the other. His shoulders ease.
“You hungry?” he asks.
“For food?” I counter.
His grin turns wicked. “Both answers work.”
We eat side by side, knees brushing, trading bites. By the time we’re done, my doubts have quieted.
He tips his head toward the bedroom.
