The oven hums to life.
While they bake, I make coffee. Two mugs, one with way too much cream and sugar, because that’s how he likes it. Then I grab a book off the shelf by the window. Some old paperback of a romance novel a previous renter must have left behind. I flip the cover and inside reads,
Layne Larimore, December 2024
and beneath it,
If your significant other reads you the bit about food play, don’t think… just do it. You can thank me later.
–Wes
Okay…
I don’t even check the title before I sit down near the fire, legs stretched out, letting the warmth soak in.
It’s quiet.Peaceful.
This is the first time in weeks that my head isn’t spinning with worry or guilt or the constant ache of wanting moretime with Caleb. Just…this. Snow still falling, fire crackling, cinnamon in the air.
The oven timer dings just as I hear the creak of the loft stairs.
“Smells so good,” comes his voice from the loft, still raspy from sleep.
I look up just in time to see him nearly trip over the last step, half stumbling down the stairs, hair a mess, wearing one of my hoodies, or should I say my hoodie that he lets me wear so he can steal it.
“Careful, baby,” I laugh, setting the book aside. “You’re gonna break your neck before breakfast.”
“Worth it if it means I get to those rolls faster,” he says, grinning, eyes lighting up when he spots the baking dish cooling on the counter. “Are those...”
“Mom’s cinnamon rolls.”
“Did you?”
“Make them before the trip so you could have them on Christmas Eve? Yeah, I did.”
He crosses the kitchen in three steps, pressing a kiss to my cheek before reaching for a fork. I swat his hand away.
“Too hot. You’ll burn your mouth.”
He smirks. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Brat,” I mutter, trying not to smile as I plate two rolls and slide them toward him.
He sits at the counter, steam rising between us, that happy little hum he does when something tastes good filling the quiet. It makes me feel warm in a way the fire can’t touch.
I would do things… illegal things to see him happy like this all the time.
I take a sip of coffee, watching him devour half the roll in one bite. “Eat up, pretty boy. You’ll need the energy.”
He pauses, cheeks full, suspicious. “For what?”
I nod toward the window. The world outside’s a blur of white, fat flakes still coming down, the trees weighed heavy with snow. “Thought we’d have a little fun out there today.”
He swallows, brows lifting. “Fun like… building a snowman?”
A slow grin pulls at my mouth. “No, baby. More like a game of cat and mouse.”
He blinks, uncertainty flickering behind his smile. “You mean, like, chasing?”
