“You’ve thought about this a lot.”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think,” I admitted. “Watching this place struggle has been hard. Knowing we were losing ground every year and not being able to do anything about it.”
“We will turn things around,” Kent said with certainty. “I have no doubt about that.”
I kissed him, slow and sweet, trying to pour all my gratitude into the gesture. When I pulled back, his eyes were warm.
“I’m hungry,” I announced.
Kent raised an eyebrow. “After all that food at dinner?”
“That was hours ago,” I protested. “And we just burned a lot of calories.”
He laughed and swatted my ass playfully. “What do you want?”
“Cookies,” I said decisively. “I have a whole tin of Mom’s Christmas cookies in the kitchen.”
“You’re going to eat cookies in bed?” Kent asked, his tone suggesting this was somehow scandalous.
“I’m going to eat cookies inmybed,” I corrected, climbing over him to grab my robe. “You can join me, or you can watch. Your choice.”
He watched me tie the robe with an expression that suggested he was already thinking about taking the robe off. “You know what? Fuck it. Let’s eat cookies in bed.”
I grinned and padded to the kitchen, returning moments later with the tin of cookies and two glasses of milk. Kent had pulled the sheets up to his waist and was leaning against the headboard, looking deliciously rumpled.
I climbed back into bed, settling cross-legged beside him and opening the tin. The smell of cinnamon filled the room.
“Your mom is a goddess,” Kent said, taking a cookie shaped like a Christmas tree. “These are incredible.”
“They’re her secret recipe,” I said, biting into a gingerbread man. “She only makes them at Christmas.”
We sat there munching cookies and sipping milk like children at a sleepover. It was domestic and silly and absolutely perfect. Kent got crumbs on the sheets and didn’t even seem to care, which felt like some kind of milestone for a man who probably had a housekeeper to change his sheets daily in his Manhattan penthouse.
“I could get used to this,” he said, reaching for another cookie.
“Eating cookies in bed?”
“Being with you. Doing normal, everyday things that somehow feel special because you’re here.”
I felt my cheeks warm. “You’re such a sap.”
“Only for you,” he said, pulling me against his side. A shower of cookie crumbs fell onto the sheets. “Shit, sorry.”
“Kent,” I said, cupping his face. “You can leave crumbs in my bed anytime.”
His expression softened. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I kissed him, tasting sugar on his lips. “This is what real life looks like. It’s messy and imperfect and full of cookie crumbs. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
He pulled me into his lap, the cookie tin getting knocked aside as his hands found their way under my robe. “Have I mentioned that I love you?”
“Once or twice,” I said, my breath catching as his fingers traced up my thighs. “But I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”
“I love you,” he murmured against my neck. “I love you so much it scares me sometimes.”
“Don’t be scared,” I whispered, letting my robe fall open. “I’m not going anywhere.”
CHAPTER 64
