I turn the knob of the sink with more force than necessary.
Cold water hits my face like a jolt of ice, sending tiny droplets dripping down my neck as I press the towel to my skin.
The sticky note is still crumpled beside me, but the words echo louder now.
You look beautiful.
I exhale slowly.
Once my skin is dry and moisturized, I throw my hair back in a messy clip, letting a few strands fall loose around my face. The bathroom smells faintly like Maverick’s body wash—orange and something sweet.
I make my way to the corner where my suitcase sits, half-unzipped with clothes spilling out on the sides. I crouch down, flipping through crumpled T-shirts, black ripped jeans, and a few oversized hoodies until I find something halfway decent—high-waisted faded jeans, a ribbed black tank, and my combat boots.
After getting myself ready, I head downstairs.
The vague aroma of pancakes with a hint of bananas fills the air. The scent is warm, thick, and nostalgic, with cinnamon laced in browned butter.
I stop at the last step, craning my neck towards the smell, and there’s Maverick, shirtless once again, in his signature black sweatpants.
Heat creeps up my thighs, and I instinctively clench them together.
God, you dumb bitch, control yourself.
His back is towards me as he flips the pancakes over thestovetop. The morning light hits his toned back, accentuating the rigid features of his intricate muscles, muscles I didn’t even know existed.
Fuck, he’s ripped.
He’s in the middle of flipping a pancake when he hears the creak of the wooden stairs. He turns around with the spatula in hand, with a grin plastered all over his handsome face.
“Morning, dollface,” he says.
My eyes flick to the counter. Again, he has six different iced coffees lined up. “What the hell is this?”
He shrugs like it’s obvious. “I didn’t know what you were feeling this morning, so I got you some different options.”
I blink. “Thank you?”
“I even asked Catalina what’s your go-to coffee order, wanted to make sure I got it right.”
“Catalina?” I arch a brow.
“Yeah, before she manhandled me,” He shrugs, flipping a pancake onto a plate. “I told her I wanted to know your favorite things. You’re someone worth knowing.”
That one hits different.
My heart stutters, just once, like a skipped beat. I blink it away and grab one of the iced coffees, cracking the seal to hide my reaction.
“Sweet talker,” I mutter into the straw.
He smirks, leaning one hip against the counter. “Only for you, Mrs. Hayes.”
Before I can muster a smartass response, there’s a sudden blur of motion. Rex jumps onto the kitchen counter next to Maverick.
Maverick yelps, stumbling back. “Help!”
Rex hisses.
“Why is he always here when I’m trying to be romantic?” Maverick points an accusatory finger at him.
