In a knot.
One that I don’t want to be undone.
I’m lost in this living dream, which is why I don’t hear Keats walk down the stairs, already in his work clothes.
“You’re up before me. Now who needs the workaholic talk?” He walks behind the couch and leans down to kiss my lips. Morning kisses are his softer side.
“Mmm, good morning to you too,” I greet him.
Keats continues his journey to the kitchen, and I close my laptop to follow. In the kitchen he turns on his coffee machine while he yawns and stretches.
“You shouldn’t work on the couch like that. It will kill your wrists.”
I choke a laugh. “I’m going to yoga in a little bit. Besides, you work at your coffee table when you are bored with your dining table, even though you have an office in this little mansion of yours. Someone is hypocritical.” Coyly, I smile. “Your concern is more that my wrist action and hands would be out of service.”
His tongue swipes across his front teeth. “Not even six a.m. and your very dirty mind is out in full force.”
Pattering to his waiting arms, he kisses the top of my head. “Look at us starting our day with a tiff,” I joke.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now time to grab my bran flakes and milk,” he says, not exactly enthused, but I’ve forced him to add breakfast to his morning routine. I know he gets stuff at the office, although it’s off season, so the breakfast options are smaller than during regular game season since not many people are there. Sometimes I feel like this desire to take careof him is a built-in instinct of mine. Doesn’t matter. What is important is that Iwantto do these things for him.
“Breakfast of champions for my hardworking thirty-three year old man,” I tease, and I wrap my arms around his middle with no intention of leaving because breakfast can wait a few minutes.
I notice the way he inhales the scent of my shampoo, “white rice lily” it’s called.
Maybe we are overly cute together. Is it because we’re new? I don’t question it anymore. We go at our own pace, and it just so happens to be from freezing to boiling in what many would consider a short time. We’re not definable, but we stir emotions in the other even if we don’t discuss it.
“What’s on your agenda today?”
“Catching up with Hailey this morning after yoga. That reminds me, you wanted to do a BBQ this weekend, right?”
Keats steps away to actually grab his breakfast materials because he listens to me. “Why not? The weather is supposed to be great. You only have a shoot early afternoon. My sister wants to come over, and it’s always fun to watch the Liam, Hailey, and Oliver show.”
I chuckle because he is right. Little nerves flutter up inside of me. “Your sister,” I state.
His back is to me when he closes the fridge door with milk in hand, but I can see the corner of his face that has an amusing smirk. “Freaking out much? I thought you two hit it off.”
I snort a laugh. “Back when I thought you were insufferable.”
Keats opens the cereal box. “Ooh, Esme is shaking in her boots.”
Raising one foot, grateful that I’m flexible, I show him my bare toes. “No socks or shoes on.”
“Relax. Besides, my nephew is the distraction.”
I am slightly eased. “Well, just let me know what to get at the grocery store.”
“Will do. I’ll be home late tonight. Work and all.”
I’m used to it. Sometimes he is home around dinner, and we eat something casual and catch up, but there are many days he gets home when I’m asleep since I hit a 9 p.m. nosedive on the tired scale. It’s understandable why it must be difficult to sustain a relationship which is why he’s been single for a while, but we puzzle together. Schedules don’t seem to bother us; we respect the lines.
“I’ll be sleeping.”
He points his spoon at me. “You won’t be five minutes after I get home.” He winks. Sometimes in my drowsy state we end the day on a positive naked note, other times right before the alarm goes off in the morning.
Despite our living arrangement, domesticated us hasn’t worn down the passionate us.
“Just go. You’re going to be late.” I shoo him.
