I reached for her, grinning. This was so much better than the fantasy—because this was real. Drool and all. Her mussed-up hair and deep sleep were both a testament to all the sex we’d had last night. My Gracie was a bit of a mess and I felt a deep satisfaction in knowing I was the one who made her that way.
She groaned a little as I pulled her into my chest. I knew it would be shitty to intentionally wake her up, but I couldn’t help myself from pressing a kiss or two to the top of her head. Even in her sleep she came to me easily, melting against my body as if she had been doing it all her life.
I held her for a long moment, brushing my hand across her back, enjoying the feeling of her bare skin under my fingers. Eventually she made a little grunting noise, followed by a few unintelligible words.
“What was that?” I whispered.
“Unghmf,” she repeated, and I chuckled.
“Someone is not a morning person.”
She pulled her face away from my chest, blinking up at me, and practically growled out, “coffee.”
I pushed some of the red mess from her face so I could see her better. “Was that a question or…?”
“It was adesire,” she said, yawning. “I was just putting it out there, into the universe. My longing for coffee. That’s a thing, you know. You’re supposed to be able to manifest your desires by speaking them into the universe.” Another yawn. “Or something like that. There are like, a million books about it.”
I snickered, kissing her forehead. God, she was adorable in the morning. As grumpy and out of it as she was, she was still talking about books.
“I guess it worked,” I said, giving her one last squeeze before releasing her and rolling away.
“Where are you going?”
“To make you some coffee.”
“You don’t have to do that.” She sat up quickly, much more awake, and brought her hands up to smooth out her hair. When her fingers hit the curls, her eyes widened in what I was pretty sure was horror. “Oh my God,” she muttered. “I do not even want to know what my hair looks like right now.”
“It looks cute,” I assured her, leaning across the mattress to kiss her. “I’ll see you downstairs?”
She nodded, still looking concerned. I found my boxers on the floor and pulled them on before heading to the doorway.I was halfway down the stairs when I heard a little shriek, followed by a moan. I froze. “You okay?”
There was a pause and I began to turn, ready to go right back and see what was wrong. “Yeah,” she called finally, her voice morose. “I just caught sight of myself in the mirror.”
I laughed and continued down the stairs. Though not as colorful as the rest of her house, Gracie’s kitchen still reminded me of her. The colors in here were more calming, all creams and light yellows. She had butcher block counters and the window curtains had tiny pink flowers all over them. It reminded me of something you might find in a country cottage. I could see us in this kitchen, cooking dinner together or eating breakfast on a lazy weekend morning. The image made me ridiculously happy.
One step at a time,I reminded myself. The last thing I wanted to do was overwhelm Gracie. “Just start with the coffee before you start planning the rest of your life,” I muttered, spotting a Keurig on the counter.
Gracie came down about ten minutes later, her wild hair now contained in a bun atop her head, a flannel robe wrapped around her. She gave me a sheepish smile, her cheeks flushed, and I grinned, loving how shy she was even after everything we had done the night before.
“You still like cream and sugar?” I asked, holding out the mug I had already prepared.
She froze in the act of reaching for it, her hand hanging in the air. “You remember how I like my coffee?”
I shrugged, holding it out a little further in encouragement. “We spent enough time studying in coffee houses together.”
She finally took the mug, giving me a bewildered little smile, and I turned away.
I should probably at least attempt to reign it in here. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to make it very obvious just howobsessed I had been with her back then. And how the feeling apparently hadn’t waned much over the years.
I busied myself with my own cup of coffee then joined her at the table. She kept shooting me confused little glances, like she wasn’t sure exactly how I had come to be in her kitchen bright and early on a Saturday morning.
“I think you owe me a dinner, Gracie,” I said, hoping to distract her from whatever thoughts were making her forehead scrunch up like that.
“I do?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
I nodded before sipping my coffee. “Yeah. You promised to show me good Mexican food last night, and you didn’t follow through.”
The eyebrow rose even higher. “I was more than willing to take you out last night. You were the one who insisted on staying here.”
