A minute later, he comes back carrying two steaming mugs and a small plate balanced on top of one. He’s pulled on his boxers but nothing else—hair still a disaster, skin golden in the light.
“Breakfast in bed,” he announces, setting everything on the nightstand before climbing back in beside me. “Don’t get used to it. This is a one-time guilt offering for making you wait while I caffeinate.”
I sit up against the headboard, accepting the mug he hands me—black with one sugar, exactly right. The plate holds two slices of toast, buttered with a smear of jam on one and peanut butter on the other. Simple. Perfect.
“You remembered the peanut butter ratio,” I say, taking a bite.
He shrugs, sipping his own coffee—so much milk it looks almost white and probably enough sugar to fuel him for the day. “Some things are sacred.”
We eat in comfortable quiet for a minute, shoulderstouching, legs tangled under the blanket. Every few bites, he reaches over to wipe a crumb from my lip with his thumb, or brushes his knuckles along my jaw, or just rests his hand on my thigh like he needs the contact.
After the toast is gone and the mugs are half-empty, he sets everything aside and turns to face me fully.
“Better?” I ask.
“Marginally human,” he says with a small grin. “Still don’t want to leave.”
“Then don’t,” I murmur, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth.
He catches my face gently, turns the kiss deeper for a moment—slow, lingering—then pulls back with visible effort.
“I have to. If I don’t text Ty and Will soon, they’re gonna file a missing person’s report. Or worse—show up here with bolt cutters.”
I groan, burying my face in his hair. “Let them. I’ll barricade the door.”
“Tempting,” he laughs softly, “but I should probably go before they stage a rescue mission. Ty’s dramatic when he’s worried. Will just brings snacks and passive-aggressive comments.”
I pull back enough to look at him. “Stay a little longer?”
His expression softens. “I want to. More than anything. But I also want to do this right. No rushing. No hiding. I’ll come back tonight if you want. Or tomorrow. Or every damn day until you’re sick of me.”
“Never,” I say immediately.
He smiles—small, real, the one that always undid me—and leans in to kiss me. When he pulls back, his thumb brushes my bottom lip.
“Tonight,” he promises. “I’ll bring takeout. Your favoritefrom that little Mexican place. And maybe I’ll even let you pick the movie.”
“Deal.” I kiss him again—deeper this time, reluctant to let go.
We stay like that for another minute, trading lazy kisses, hands wandering but gentle. Eventually, he sighs against my mouth.
“Okay. Adulting time.”
He rolls away—reluctantly—and swings his legs over the side of the bed. I watch him stand, stretching with a groan that makes every muscle in his back shift in a way that’s unfairly distracting.
“Stop staring,” he teases, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk.
“Can’t help it. You’re walking around my bedroom like you belong here.”
He pauses, expression softening. “I do belong here.”
My throat tightens. “Yeah. You do.”
He grabs his clothes from the other room and wanders back in and starts pulling them on. I sit up against the headboard, arms crossed, watching every movement, memorizing it.
When he’s dressed, he turns back to me, steps close, and cups my face in both hands.
“One more,” he murmurs.
