The coffee maker signals the brew is ready and I pour us two cups. “You want one piece of toast or two?”
“Is that code for something?” Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t quite smile.
I keep my voice even. “No, just want to make sure you get enough to eat.”
She laughs and comes to the counter, finally perching on a stool.
"Just one piece, please."
Rainey has her elbows braced on the counter and her chin in her hands. She watches me place the bread in the toaster. I can feel her eyes tracking every movement.
She drums her fingers on the counter. “Can I help?”
“No.”
She grins wider. “Control issues?”
“Maybe,” I reply, raising one eyebrow as I glance at her.
I see her expression change. Rainey is not sure of that answer. Probably wondering if I’m joking. I’m not.
Chapter 13
Rainey
This is a terrible idea. Not the breakfast at his place part. The cooking part is fine. It’s actually the only part of this entire situation that is under control. Eggs don’t flirt back. Toast doesn’t look at you like it knows exactly what you’re thinking.
Everything else? Wildly questionable.
“Why don't you want me to help?” I ask, because apparently I’ve decided today is the day I test my limits. “Afraid I’ll mess something up?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches me like he’s weighing something he hasn’t said yet.
“Nothing to help with or fix. I can tell you're probably a great cook.” he says finally.
Something changes in his expression. He’s trying not to show it, but I feel it. The room goes quiet in a way that doesn’t feel empty. Just narrowed down to this space between us. I push offthe counter before I can overthink it and take a step toward him. Too close. I know it. He knows it. Neither of us move away from one another.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I say, and there’s a thread of nerves under it now. Not enough to stop me. Just enough to make it real. His gaze drops just slightly to my mouth. Everything slows. My heart does that thing — it’s beating fast and possibly uneven.
His hand lifts, just a fraction, like he’s deciding whether to cross a line he’s been holding. This time … he doesn’t stop. Troy’s fingers close gently around my wrist first, like he’s giving me a chance to pull away. I don’t.
His hand slides up, slower now, deliberate, until it settles at my waist. I inhale sharply, and that’s all it takes. He closes the distance. The first touch of his lips is controlled and light. Like he’s testing it, making sure it’s real. It is very real. And then I lean into his kiss.
My hand comes up, finding his black t-shirt, gripping just enough to anchor myself as the kiss deepens. Not out of control, but not holding back anymore either. I can feel his hard muscles beneath my hand knotted in the fabric of his shirt. It does something to me I’m not prepared for.
Troy shifts closer, his other hand sliding up into my hair, not pulling, just holding me there like he doesn’t want the space between us to widen into a gap. This kiss changes everything.
My pulse spikes, heat rushing through me, and suddenly I’m very aware of how close we are. I can’t get over how solid he feels. All I know is I don’t want him to stop. His mouth moves against mine, slower than I expect, like he’s taking his time with it. Learning it. Letting it build instead of rushing through. It’s not frantic. It’s intentional slow. Somehow, that makes it worse, better … both.
My breath breaks against his mouth, and I feel the shift in him when it does. His grip tightens slightly at my waist, just enough to pull me closer. There’s no space left now. No room for pretending this is casual or accidental. It’s not. Really, it hasn’t been since we met.
The thought flashes through my head —this is happening.Instead of panicking, I lean into it more. I don’t want to pull back.
Eventually … because apparently oxygen is still a requirement, he does. But not far. Just enough.
His forehead rests lightly against mine, both of us breathing a little harder than we were a minute ago.
Neither of us moves. And then, because I am still me—
