He tosses one of his hoodies onto the bed in clear demand for me to wear it. When I slip it over my head, his eyes go sort of mushy and his mouth does that trembling thing at thecorner that tells me he’s holding back a besotted smile. I’ll have to wear his clothes more often if it makes him look at me like I’m the only person who exists on this planet.
“Can I at least get a good-morning kiss?”
Charlie returns to the bed to kiss me softly, just a gentle glide of lips. I want more, as I usually do, but he dances away from me like the minx he is. I watch him go, his round ass bouncing as he walks, and I have to take a minute to will my dick into submission. I brush my teeth and do my morning ablutions before padding out to the kitchen, where I find Charlie.
“Help me make a quiche.”
I lift my brows in question. “That’s a fancy breakfast for a weekday.”
Charlie shrugs lazily. “We’ve got the time.”
He’s right. We do. Charlie grabs eggs and vegetables out of the fridge, then slides a cutting board and knife over to me.
“Chop them up for me?”
“Any old way?”
Charlie sends me a quizzical look. “Cut them how you want to eat them.”
God, he’s such a gentle soul. I get to cutting up the green and red peppers, dicing them into small pieces that’ll be bite size in the quiche. We work together as a team for a bit in the early light of morning. Cupcake makes some pleased noises out in the living room, and I have the odd urge to ensure she’s been outside. I pause in cutting and look over at Charlie, meaning to ask him, but all thoughts leave my head as I watch him carefully crack eggs into a bowl. How can a man be so gentle at everything he does? Especially a man who spent his career on a football field? I think Charlie was made in a lab just for me. I’m sure of it.
Charlie shoots me another curious look. “What?”
I lean over, curl my hand over his jaw, and tug him down for a soft kiss. He makes a pleased noise, as he usually does, and lets me kiss my fill of him. When I pull away, his eyes are glazed, his lips spit wet.
“Thank you for making your home safe for me.” I mostly mean it because of the gluten, but I also mean that I’ve never once felt like I had to walk on eggshells in this home. I’ve never once felt like I don’t belong, like he didn’t want me here. Charlie has never made me feel unwanted. I don’t think he could even try to make me feel that way. “Thank you, Charlie.”
Charlie lifts a hand to rub under my eye, and his thumb comes away wet. I’m crying and didn’t realize it. Charlie presses a sweet kiss to my forehead, ignoring the emotion in my voice. Thank God. If he tried to talk to me right now, I’d either run away or say something I’m not ready to say. Further proof Charlie knows me better than I realized.
“Let’s finish cooking,” Charlie says a moment later, eyes bright and happy.
The warmth of the morning seeps into me, deep into my bones, and I know this is the hope I’ve spent my life simultaneously chasing and running away from. But for some reason with Charlie, it doesn’t scare me and doesn’t spur me into fleeing. I’ll reckon that into something one day, but for now I’ll just be comfortable beside him and hope that’s enough.
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHARLIE
“At least we’ll be able to spot him easily since he’s so big,” Tucker says with his upper body basically hanging out of the window. I reach out and grab the back of his shirt just in case, and he sends me a devious look over his shoulder. “I’m not going to fall out.”
“This is to stop you from biting people,” I deadpan.
Tucker howls, which attracts just the right attention to us in the arrivals lane of the airport. The crowd parts and there Courtney is, all six-foot-five blond glory of him. Tucker puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles, making Courtney’s head jerk toward us. He smiles and waves, eagerly making his way toward us before one of the angry airport cops can whistle my way.
“Nice to meet you,” Tucker says pleasantly, as if he’s a well-trained boy.
Courtney raises one eyebrow. “Back at you.”
After Courtney has tossed his suitcase into the truck bed and climbed into the back seat, we’re off and headed toward Hope Island. Since it’s a gorgeous day outside, we put thewindows down, and all three of us have our arms hanging out the window as we make the slow drive back home.
“How was your flight?” I ask over the wind blowing through our hair.
“Unremarkable.”
“Better than a crash,” Tucker points out.
Courtney laughs, because as I suspected, he and Tucker are going to get along just fine. “I do agree. Although, I’m a little nervous being expected to sign autographs at an event I’ve never participated in.”
“We light lanterns, make a wish, and watch them float away. We’re not making ritual sacrifices,” Tucker says with just enough sarcasm to have Courtney grinning at me in the rearview mirror. It hadn’t taken much to get Courtney to agree for a visit, especially after Cupcake’s random illness a few weeks back.
