She leans against the counter and watches me like she’s studying something new.
When it’s all done, she pours two mugs and we share a plate, sitting close enough that our knees brush.
Domestic.
Simple.
And it hits harder than anything that happened upstairs.
“I don’t know why this feels so easy with you,” she says quietly.
I hum, taking a sip of coffee, watching her over the rim of my mug.
I know why.
Because I’ve wanted her for years.
Because I don’t play games.
Because when I decide something is mine, I don’t half-step it.
But most of all, it’s because I love her.
Simple.
Profound.
Fact.
I love this woman with every inch of my soul.
But she’s not ready to hear that.
Not yet.
So instead, I reach out, brush my thumb along her jaw, and say, “It’s easy because you don’t have to perform with me, Kelly.You don’t have to shrink.You don’t have to hustle for affection.”
Her eyes soften.
“You just have to trust me.”
And that’s the part that matters.
I don’t need her perfect.
I don’t need her polished.
I need her confident.
Secure.
Certain that when I say I want her, it’s not a mood.It’s not a phase.
It’s a decision.
And I don’t make decisions I don’t intend to build on.
Like a house.
