I set the plate of food on her lap as I dig into mine so I don’t spill my sappy soul to her right this second. She has so much on her plate right now. I want to ease the load, not add more to it.
“Oh my God, this is so fucking good,” she moans, and I’m about two seconds away from saying fuck it and jumping her.
“Stop moaning, Trouble. I only have so much self-control.”
She says nothing, but mischief is blazing over all of her features.
Wordlessly, she puts a bite of French toast dripping with syrup into her mouth, and I have to scrub my hand over my face in an attempt to break the sexual tension.
Her laughter reaches my ears, and I smile. “You’re bad.”
“I am, but you like it.” She smirks.
“I do. So, how was writing last night?” I ask, changing the subject because I need her to know this isn’t solely about sex to me anymore. I want to know all the details of her day, every day.
“It was … manic. I don’t really know how to explain it. I wrote more over the course of last night than I ever have in a 24-hour period, and it wasn’t total shit. In fact, it felt really fucking good.”
“Are you still liking the direction you’re going?”
“I am. It’s so different, but it feels right for this story. I think I only have about a third left, maybe a little less, so I should be fine to make my deadline. I emailed my editor too to give her a heads up on the genre shift. She’s optimistically leery.” She laughs. “It’ll be good … hopefully.”
“That’s good. So, what’s the plan for today?” I ask. Since I don’t have to work, I’m available for anything, even if that involves shutting up and feeding her while she works.
“I think I need a quick nap, and then I’m going to jump right back in. With any luck, I’ll finish it tonight. I can go home, though, for that. I always have a weird schedule when I’m this close to a deadline,” she adds quickly.
“I’d like for you to stay, but I won’t force you if you’re more comfortable at home.”
She holds my stare for a moment. “I want to stay.” Her voice is quiet, like she’s unsure of my reaction even though I just asked her to stay.
“Done. I’ll make sure you have sustenance while you work.” I nod as I take my last bite of bacon.
“You’re spoiling me. How am I going to be able to write a book all by my lonesome again?”
By doing this every single time. Staying with me every night and letting me take care of you.
“We’ll work something out.” I wink at her instead of telling her how I really feel.
“And this was a wonderful breakfast, although, that’s not shocking coming from you. Have you always been a good cook, or is that something you learned when you left the Marshals?”
“Always loved it. It felt like a natural transition because I didn’t really have to learn anything new. It was an easy shift when I moved here, and it’s blown up more than I thought it would. Grind Time wasn’t supposed to be this huge attraction in Bluebell Falls, but that’s what it’s turned into.”
“Well, selfishly, I never want you to leave because I’m well fed thanks to you.” She takes a sip of her coffee.
“You think I’m going to leave?” I ask, confused why she has that idea.
“Honestly, I have no idea. You fit in well here, but everything I’ve learned about you makes me think your job isn’t finished with the Marshals.”
I ponder her words and am a little ashamed to say I’m starting to feel the same way. It feels like I ran away from an unfinished job, and it’s coming back to bite me in the ass now.
“Well, I have no intention of leaving. This place has really grown on me,” I tell her instead.
Her eyes twinkle as we stare at each other, then she leans forward, pressing the softest kiss to my lips.
I want more.
But I also know she has work to do and a nap to take. My needs aren’t important right now.
“Time for that nap,” I whisper against her lips.
