I froze, not expecting that.
She pressed on before I could answer. “I can’t bake, but I could buy cookies or something for you to bring when you visit? Or when you travel during the season… does she need visitors so she doesn’t get lonely? I could pretend to be a volunteer?”
Jesus.
I swallowed against the tightness in my throat, blinking down at her as my chest throbbed with something too big to name.
Without thinking, I yanked her into a hug.
Her arms immediately wrapped around me, her grip tight, secure, her body solid against mine.
I almost told her I loved her.
Because fuck, I did.
That solidified it.
She had taken the last piece of my heart, and I gave it to her willingly, freely, without hesitation.
My mom would have laughed at the irony of me falling in love with a woman who was a total flight risk, but she always said nothing in life that had value was easy.
And Michelle was so far from easy.
I smiled into her hair, holding onto her for a second longer, wanting to keep this moment, to keep her, to keep everything we were building. But I wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to stay.
So instead of voicing any of that, I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then another to her lips. She seemed to understand everything I wasn’t saying, because she smiled, leaving her hand on my arm as we finished breakfast in silence.
I stood to take our plates, but she reached out, stopping me.
“I’ll clean up,” she said. “It’s the least I can do.”
“You’re a guest here, Mitch.”
She let out a small laugh, but her voice was a little strained. “Well, I need to do something with my hands because I just want to cling to you and tell you it’ll be all right, but life doesn’t work that way. So let me clean.”
I let her.
I watched, leaning against the counter, as she rinsed the dishes, pre-washing everything before putting them in the dishwasher. I didn’t get it. Why do the work twice?
“I never talk to anyone about my mom,” I admitted, watching the way she stayed focused on the sink, like she was absorbing every word.
She nodded, finishing the last plate and drying her hands on a towel before turning back to me. “Well, you can tell me as much or as little as you want. You can guarantee I won’t tell a soul about your personal business.”
“I know you won’t.”
The words came easily, because they were true.
She placed her hands on her hips, her hair still messy from sleep, her cheeks a little flushed, and I had to touch her.
Cupping her face in my hands, I gently tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at me.
The kitchen felt smaller, quieter, like the world had narrowed down to just us.
I kissed her, slow and steady, not to provoke or entice but to ground us both in the moment.
She smiled against my lips, and for a fleeting second, I wanted to be selfish, to ask her to stay with me all day, but I couldn’t.
Pulling back, I pressed my forehead to hers. “Go study.”
