Huh. Were those for him or…?
Bypassing Cy’s picked out outfit, I went to my dresser and opened the top drawer. Empty.
Uhm…
“Cy?” I called out as I opened drawer after drawer and found them empty, every single dang diddly darn flippin’ one.
“What the hell?” I muttered, rushing to my closet to find much the same nonsense.
Wrapping Cy’s blanket around me, I ran from my room and straight into the bathroom.
Cy glanced over his shoulder curiously as I glared at him on my way down the hall.
Music played softly from the kitchen, nineties country from the sounds of it.
Was he out of thehidden music genres lovecloset?
A soft chuckle issued from my personal short order cook and snowed in lover.
He was about to learn what a full time popsicle felt like if he- “The laundry hamper too?” I barked.
Marching out of the bathroom and out into the hall, I gave Cy a look that could peel paint. “What kinda game is this, Tree?” I barked.
Cy’s eyes widened innocently and he tapped the butt of the spatula in his hand to his chest as if to say, Why… do you mean me?
“Where is my shit?” I hissed.
Furry brown eyebrows shot up. “Mean you not like what Cy find for my Pru?”
Throwing a hand up, the other clutching the ends of his blanket in place, I pointed at him. “I don’t know what the hell you’re up to, but I’m on to you!” Pointing at my eyes, I then pointed at him again.
Cy turned and set the spatula down, exposing the contents of the pan he was babysitting.
Potatoes? For me?
Potatoes is and would probably always be my love language.
My gaze darted from him, to the potato pan, then the freshly crisped bacon, then back to him again.
Cy moved fast, faster than my easily distracted brain could keep up with. Dressed in a Godzilla t-shirt, dark blue jeans, his feet bare, hair still damp as if maybe he’d made use of the shower, he wrapped me up in a big hug that pressed my face into his chest.
“What are you doing?” I mumbled into his shirt front. He’d shaved the prickles off his face, I noted this close to him. If he didn’t they’d grow out past his beard, around his eyes, nose. Shaving like that must be a bitch.
“Hugging my Pru,” he replied easily, a chuckle sneaking in there as he spoke.
Good god he felt nice. The clothes stealing fool smelled incredible.
A beat passed before I grumbled, “Where are my clothes?”
“Not want them packed? Cy help Pru pack, box up clothes.”
“That’s usually the last thing to pack, really,” I pointed out.
“And now it done, yes? No worries for last. Cy helped.” He was trying so hard not to laugh, his chest shaking with silent laughter.
Pinching his side, smiling into his chest when he yelped, captured my hand, and pretended he was going to nip the offending digits, he placed a kiss to the pinch offending fingers instead.
Pulling back, I stared up at him. “What are we doing? I mean, really, what the hell are we doing?”
