He lifts my hand, pressing a kiss to the knuckles. “You think we could go slower now?”
I shrug a shoulder, out of breath. “Maybe. Worth a try.”
“Not for science,” he says.
“For us,” I tell him, and I roll onto his chest and kiss him until time stops meaning anything at all.
Twenty-Five
Gunner’s curled up next to me in bed when I roll over, reaching for Caleb, and while surprised that I find my familiar next to me instead of the man I spent the night with, I quickly settle into his side when the scent of baked goods and coffee hits my brain.
“You made a lot of weird noises last night,” Gunner observes.
“Gross,” I tell him. “You don’t get to talk about that.”
“I wasn’t talking about anything other than the fact that you sounded like a squirrel that I treed a few years ago.”
“Please stop,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut.
“I’m just telling you,” Gunner says, all faux innocence.
I roll my eyes and stand up, only to find that the clothes Caleb bought for me last night have all been neatly folded on a small chair next to the window. A note sits on top of the pile, and I pick it up, grinning to myself.
“I threw these in the wash last night after you did the best impression of Sleeping Beauty I’ve ever seen. I figured you’d want something clean to wear today. Sorry I wasn’t in bed waking up with you, but I can’t sleep as much as I used to, and I figured getting breakfast started would be the best way to show you I’m not going anywhere without ruining your beauty sleep.”
He doesn’t sign the note, but he doesn’t have to. Obviously, there’s no question in my mind it’s from Caleb. As far as I know, Gunner can’t operate a washing machine and dryer, nor fold clothes, and lacks opposable thumbs to actually write a note.
I haven’t even had time to look at the clothes that he bought me, and considering what we — my cheeks burn as I remember exactly what happened last night, and a little thrill runs through me because it was so much better than I could’ve imagined.
Every moment with Caleb has been a revelation and a remembrance all at once
I carefully place the note on the chair next to the pile of free new clothes, and I pull off a pair of overalls, all denim with white tiny flowers scattered throughout. The legs are artfully ripped in a few places, and while I probably wouldn’t have picked them out for myself, I can’t deny that they’re adorable. A fitted T-shirt in incredibly soft material sits underneath them, and to my surprise, there are several pairs of underwear and cute little bralettes.
The girls who work in that shop must’ve helped Caleb out for him to be able to get all of this so quickly, and I have to say I’m thrilled as I put everything on, and it fits perfectly. I usually just wear dresses to work, and when I’m home I wear sweats, or what someone with a lot more imagination might call athleisure, but is probably about twenty years too old to really be called that. So having a pair of cute, if not completely my style, overalls to throw on with the fun little T-shirt and the lacy bralette peeking out around my neck and at the very top of the shirt feels really fun.
I peek through the rest of the pile. There is a floaty cotton skirt, some leggings, a dress that looks to be some sort of linen blend with poufy sleeves that I can just imagine wearing to work already, and I can’t deny that Caleb did a really good job. It’s too much, but maybe too much is exactly what I need from him right now to feel safe.
Happily clothed in my new clothes and with a pair of socks he probably grabbed at the general store last night, I make my way downstairs, where the smell of breakfast cooking only grows stronger.
Much to my surprise, the coffee maker’s not turned on, and Caleb’s not in the kitchen.
“Where’d he go?” I say, looking at Gunner, who’s come down the stairs right behind me.
“Fancy,” Gunner says instead of answering, and I follow his gaze to a moka pot on the counter and a milk frother that’s been set out.
“Oh,” I say to myself, beyond pleased. There’s a tiny assortment of syrups in many different flavors, brand new, untouched, with the protective plastic wrap still on.
“He got this for me?” I ask Gunner, shocked and thrilled. He hadn’t put it in the cart last night, and there’s no way they sold this kind of stuff at the clothing boutique, which means he bought it at some point just to have on hand in case I ever came by for a latte.
“There’s pistachio,” I tell Gunner.
“You need to make me one,” Gunner says, licking his paw as he lays down. “Also, I’m hungry. I want cooked breakfast right away, please.”
“Also yes, sir,” I say, mock saluting him.
No sooner have I located the — than the front door creaks open, and Caleb steps in. In one hand and tucked under his arm are two big paper bags, and in the other hand is a bouquet of flowers.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he says, beaming at me.
