He steps out of the bathroom with a towel low around his hips.
"Morning Charming." His voice is gruff from not using it yet today.
I was so tired last night I barely remember our pillow talk but I seem to remember Duncan agreeing to be my boyfriend.
"Morning, Boyfriend." I set my smile free and watch it reflected in his glasses.
Duncan’s hands slow a fraction as he finishes drying his body, but he’s smiling. I stay curled in his bed as he gets dressed. Once he returns from hanging up his towel he stands at the foot of the bed with his hands on his hips.
"Well, c’mon Charming. Be a good boyfriend and make me breakfast."
"You’re the one who needs boyfriend practice. You makemebreakfast." I toss a pillow at him which he, of course, catches easily.
"You know not what you’ve done." He says as he smacks the pillow against my ass. "But I’m tired of Bryson saying he’s the world’s best boyfriend."
"I can’t wait to see what you whip up."
He straightens his shoulders and I enjoy the view of him leaving the room.
We haven’t had a night together since Nashville where we haven’t fooled around a little and it feels so good to be playful and flirty without sex hijacking everything.
It gives me hope we can figure this out. That what we share is more intimate than what our bodies crave.
Duncan curses in the kitchen and after I indulge in one final inhale of his pillows I get out of bed and head to the shower.
Hopefully my boyfriend is still in one piece when I get out.
***
"The shells shouldn’t beinthe bowl." I hear through a speaker phone as I walk to the kitchen. "I have a personal chef but at least I know that much."
"Rub it in, why don’t you. I’m dying here!" Duncan exhales. Before I announce my presence I take in the scene in front of me.
Three mixing bowls are on the counter. One is tipped on its side, a box of high protein pancake mix is half spilled into it. It looks like all twelve eggs have been cracked between the bowls and a few casualties ooze on the counter.
Milk is open, a few spoons are scattered across the island, and Duncan is looking at the stove with both of his hands on top of his head.
"Duncan? Everything alright?" I ask quietly.
He whips around, mumbling, "gotta go" as he stabs at his phone. "Rhys! Charming. Hello. Ummm, it’s not quite ready yet."
"I’d say. What are you working on?"
"Pancakes?"
"Are you asking me or telling me?"
"Both."
Fuck, this is the best morning of my entire life. "How can I help?"
Dunan flutters his eyelashes and pouts. "You could make me pancakes instead."
"I think you’re out of eggs." I start to pile the broken shells into the crate.
"Yeah, those are tricky little buggers."
He starts to help clean up too. "How is it possible you never learned to cook?" I ask as I wipe excess flour into the trash.
