I slip into the bathroom and take care of business, then I brush my teeth slowly, watching my own reflection. On impulse, I open the drawer and pull out a brand-new toothbrush. Still in the wrapper. I set it on the counter, hesitating for half a second before deciding not to overthink it.
“Hey,” I call softly, a smile tugging at my mouth. “I put an extra toothbrush out for you if you.”
The room is empty. The bed’s rumpled where he was. The cats are gone too. My stomach gives a tiny, stupid flip before I shake it off and wander down the hall. The house feels different this morning.
I hit the kitchen doorway and stop. Lucky is crouched by the counter, pouring food into bowls. Psycho and Menace are glued to him, weaving around his legs, tails straight up, purring so loud it’s ridiculous. I cross my arms. “Traitors,” I say dryly.
He glances over his shoulder, a grin spreading slow and unapologetic. “Hey, I didn’t call them. They came to me.”
Menace flops dramatically onto his side, demanding attention. Lucky obliges without hesitation, scratching its belly.
I shake my head, but my chest feels light. Then the smell hits me. Coffee. Real coffee. Brewing. “Oh my god,” I murmur. “You’re feeding my cats and making coffee?”
He stands, brushes his hands on his jeans, and turns toward me, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “I heard the priorities were caffeine and pancakes.”
I laugh, leaning back against the counter. “Before that,” I say, nodding down the hall, “there’s a toothbrush on my sink for you.”
His gaze slides past me toward the hallway, and something warm and unmistakably pleased crosses his face. Not smug. Not cocky. Just quietly there.
“Yeah?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say softly.
He leans in and presses a soft kiss to the top of my head, “I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, already turning toward the hallway.
I watch him head down the hall toward my room, then turn back to the stove. I put the bacon in the pan and listen to it start to sizzle. Then I mix up the pancake batter. The coffee finishes brewing and the kitchen smells like it. I take a breath and keep going.
By the time I pour two mugs of coffee and set them on the counter, I hear his footsteps behind me. He doesn’t say anythingat first. He just steps in close, brackets me in with both hands on the counter, his body warm and solid at my back. I inhale sharply, the scent of him mixing with coffee and bacon and something that feels dangerously like contentment.
Then his mouth brushes my neck. I close my eyes without meaning to. “Mmm,” I murmur. “If you keep doing that, breakfast is going to burn.”
His lips curve against my skin. “Worth it.”
I tip my head slightly to give him better access, then catch myself and laugh softly. “Coffee first,” I say. “Then you can distract me.”
He laughs, and finally eases back just enough to grab his mug, but his body stays close, like he’s not ready to move away.
We move around each other easily after that. He flips pancakes while I manage the bacon. When we’re finished, we eat at the counter, knees bumping, my cats posted nearby like they’re supervising. I drink too much coffee.
When we’re done, he leans back against the counter, arms crossed, expression shifting. “There’s some stuff I’ve gotta take care of today,” he says. “Club shit.”
My chest tightens just a little, instinctive, but he reaches out and catches my hand before the thought can spiral.
“Before I go,” he continues, voice steady, eyes locked on mine, “I need to make something real clear.”
I nod, curious about what he’s about to say.
“I’m interested in you,” he says plainly. “I don’t date. Never have. But I will if that’s what you need.” My breath stutters. “Iwant you, Savannah,” he says. “I know it’s fast. I don’t give a damn.” He steps closer, close enough that I can feel his heat, but he doesn’t crowd me. Doesn’t touch me yet. “I’m sure that fifty years from now, you’re gonna be the woman rocking beside me on a porch while our grandkids are tearing up the yard.” A faint smile tugs at his mouth. “I’m sure there’s no one else I could possibly want that makes me feel like you do.” My throat burns. My eyes sting. “So whatever you wanna call this,” he says quietly, “that’s what we are. Because I’m playing for keeps, Firecracker.”
He finally takes my face in his hands, thumbs brushing my cheeks. “I need to know you hear me,” he adds. “And I don’t want you to listen to those bitches at the bar.” His jaw tightens just a bit. “If something comes up, you ask me. You don’t assume. You don’t run.”
I nod, the motion small but certain. “I hear you,” I say. My voice shakes, but it doesn’t break. “I do.”
Relief flashes across his face, followed by something deeper. Fiercer. “Good,” he says softly.
He kisses my forehead, lingering, then my cheek, like he’s memorizing me. “I’ll be back later,” he says.
I watch him go, heart full and terrified and hopeful all at once.
