He presses a soft, brief kiss to my forehead before settling back against the pillow.
I curl closer to him and rest my head against his chest. His arms come around me immediately, surrounding me until I'm tucked securely against his side.
His warmth has already worked its way into the blankets.
For the first time since the heat flare in the kitchen, my omega is completely content.
Bash's breathing gradually slows. His arm stays wrapped around me.
I close my eyes.
Chapter 31
Maya
I wake slowly, immediately aware that Bash is gone. His side of the bed still carries the last traces of his body heat.
I don't move away from that warmth.
Instead, I lie there in the silence, pale gold light pressing at the edges of the blackout curtains, and let the morning exist around me.
I kissed him last night.
It wasn't because of my heat symptoms. I wanted to kiss him.
Even when he pulled back and told me not to rush, it didn't feel like rejection.
If anything, it felt like someone thinking beyond this moment. Beyond this week. Someone who didn't want to start whatever this becomes on the wrong foot.
I press my face into the pillow and breathe in his scent for a moment before sitting up. I go through my usual bathroom routine, change into a fresh set of clothes, and head for the door.
The smell of coffee reaches me before I even get to the bottom of the stairs.
When I reach the kitchen doorway, I pause.
Adrian is at the stove, and I can tell at a glance that something is different.
He looks up when I appear.
“Morning,” he says, then turns back to the stove without missing a beat. I pull out an island stool and sit. A coffee is already waiting for me with just the right amount of Oat milk. I still have no idea how he figured that out.
I wrap both hands around the mug and watch him.
He's almost smiling. Not quite. But the corner of his mouth keeps threatening to lift, and there's an energy to him that wasn't there yesterday.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Good morning to you too.”
“What are you up to?” I press.
“I’m making eggs.” He gestures toward the pan.
“You look like someone who has a plan.”
He immediately tries to make his face neutral. It isn't even slightly convincing.
“I often have plans,” he says. “I'm a very organized person.”
