“Fine. Be warned I have no issue slipping into you when needed. If you’re staying here, then I’m going to reap the benefits.”
Smiling to myself, I like the sound of that.
I would say we are only interested in sex, except… he invited, or rather ordered, me into his home and has taken care of me.
And overnight, the sprinkles of more that were spreading between us over the last few weeks are now a trail of the past.
Because a profound urge to take another step between us has become irresistible and inevitable.
16
KEATS
This woman has me in a chokehold.
I’m falling, or maybe I always have been, using our arguments as a ruse.
Stretching my arms, I yawn as I step down the stairs, the golden sun filling my house with light and the smell of bacon tingling my nose. To be honest, I’m still tired from this weekend, but this morning it’s due to having Esme in my bed and our ability to mix adrenaline with sex to create a long night of epic proportions. We were supposed to sleep.
Arriving at the dining table, I pause, and my head lolls to the side as I study the head of the table. There’s a plate with a folded newspaper resting on top of it. Cutlery nicely placed around the plate. There are those croissants from a canned roll of dough on a platter with a napkin underneath. Is that freshly squeezed orange juice?
Esme sings to herself. I hear her in the kitchen, and I guess we haven’t actually slept overnight with one another until this weekend. This is her normal morning routine?
“You’re up. Great, I was going to wake you for breakfast.” Esme whizzes by me carrying a plate. She’s wearingone of my work shirts and nothing else. My head tips a little more to get a view. Oh wait, there is a thong… I think.
Scratching my cheek, I’m trying to adjust to the scene. “Uh, what’s this?”
She looks up to me with a bright smile as she sets the bacon down and adjusts the syrup bottle. “It’s breakfast.”
I slowly walk to my chair. “I can see that. It’s just a little formal, don’t you think?”
She is quick to meet me halfway and grabs my wrist to guide me faster to my seat. “Well, I remembered you mentioned about your Sunday paper and wanted to make sure you have a nice breakfast… a thank-you, really.”
Smirking to myself, I feel a discussion coming. “Here I was thinking this is the new standard.” I sit down.
Esme playfully pinches my arm before landing on her chair. “I just figured this is the least I could do.” She begins to pour me coffee from the French press.
“I have a damn good machine in the kitchen.”
She shrugs her shoulders. “But this is more fitting for the setting. It’s all about atmosphere.”
I sputter a laugh. “How am I to argue with the woman who literally has a room for her boudoir atmosphere.”
Her smile remains but fades. “Well, it will be a while until it can be used again. It’s okay, I have a lot of engagement shoots coming up, luckily.” Her lips press together, and it’s apparent she’s soaking in her own mixed emotions. “So many things gone.” Her voice trembles, but then she takes a deep breath through her nostrils and her eyes drift to the side. “I know it’s only material, but still, a house can be your home, and now my home is like a piece of burnt toast.” She deflates.
“Sourdough toast?” The corner of her mouth tugs weakly from my wit. Blowing out a deep breath, I know that I can’t keep reiterating the obvious that all those things are items, butthere is only one her. “You’re here, and you’re safe,” is what I manage to come up with, and it’s the truth.
Her eyes flick up to meet mine, and they’re brimming with appreciation, and my heart constricts for a second, a warning perhaps. She’s in front of me, in my home, in my shirt, and we’re sharing breakfast. It’s domesticated, and all that comes to mind is that this is the image that I can and want to get accustomed to.
“I’m safe because I’m here. Which brings me to our next point.” Her serious thought is broken by her fingers snapping in the air. “Wait, I forgot to ask if you take sugar or milk in your coffee. I don’t actually know. No, it’s black, right? I recall mentioning that it’s dark as your soul.” She frowns in embarrassment.
“Memory lane, eh? And yes, black is fine.”
Esme blows out a relieved exhale, and she seems to be psyching herself up. “So, our next item of discussion.”
“For someone who makes fun of me for working too much, I wish to highlight that you seem to have a meeting agenda on a Sunday.”
Her head bobs side to side. “It’s just, if I’m going to be staying here for a little bit…” She holds her palm up. “I mean, it can’t be that long. The insurance guy will give me more insight tomorrow.”
