The bathroom mirror is fogged from our shower, but I can still see him through it. He has that sleepy, half-lidded look, toothbrush in his mouth.
He catches me staring. I look away, smiling. He bumps his elbow into mine gently while we both brush. We rinse, then head to the kitchen in silence. Lulu's already up, stretched out on the sunny part of the floor. I crouch down and run my hand over her soft little head. She purrs and flops dramatically.
"Alright," I say, looking up at him. "What should we make?" But before I can even straighten up, Gio is already moving. He gently takes me by the arm and guides me down into the kitchen chair. "You," he says. "Sit."
"Gio—"
"I'm cooking."
"I want to help—"
"Youarehelping," he says, walking to the fridge. "A lot." I laugh, leaning my arms on the table. "You do know you don't have to serve me, right?"
He looks back at me over his shoulder, smirking. "I know," he says. "But I want to."
"Why?"
He turns around then, spatula in hand. "Because," he says, "I want to make breakfast for my boyfriend." My stomach does this tight fluttery thing. "...Oh," I say, totally useless.
He grins. "Yeah. That's right. Say it again."
I lean on the counter. "Say what?"
"The thing. The b-word. Don't play dumb," he says. "Come on. I've been waiting my whole damn life to hear it from someone like you."
I swallow. "…My boyfriend?"
He closes his eyes like he's savoring it. "That one."
I laugh under my breath. I feel like I'm glowing. "You're really leaning into this, huh?" I tease. Gio turns back to the pan.
"I've never had a boyfriend before," he says, quieter now. "Let me be annoying about it."
I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his waist from behind, rest my chin on his shoulder. "You're not annoying, Gio."
We sit down to eat. His cooking smells better than anything I've ever had at a restaurant. We eat in comfortable silence, legsbrushing under the table, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the wood. Halfway through, I swallow and lean back.
"I'm thirsty."
Gio is already out of his chair. "Do you want water? Milk? Juice? Fresh-squeezed? Cold? Warm? Sparkling? Still? Wine? I've got beer. Tequila. Champagne, I think. I'll check."
I blink at him, mouth half-open, chewing slowly. He looks so serious about it too.
I laugh. My hand goes to my face. "For the love of God, Gio," I say through a grin. "Just bring me some water." He pauses, stares at me for a second, then nods three times. "Water. Got it. Only the finest."
We're both laughing. He sets the glass of water in front of me with a flourish like he's a five-star waiter. I shake my head, still giggling, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
He's about to sit again, but the loud knock on the door slices through the moment. We freeze. I blink, eyes snapping toward the front of the house.
"What was that?" I ask, my voice already quieter. Another knock. Louder this time. My stomach drops.
I stand too fast. "Gio—" I breathe, but I don't even know what I'm asking. He's already up, his entire body alert.
"Hey. Look at me." He puts a hand on my arm. "Go upstairs." My pulse is in my throat. I can't hear anything but my own heart pounding in my ears. "Why, Gio? What's happening?"
Another bang. "Police. Open the door."
My eyes snap open. I look at Gio.
