Page 74 of Hometown Halftime

Sure enough, there’s an egg white omelet with some spinach mixed in cooking in the pan beside turkey sausage and toast sitting on a plate off to the side. The kitchen smells comforting, sunlight pouring through the windows over the countertops while soft music plays quietly from his phone nearby. Domesticity looks alarmingly good on him.

“Are you hungry?” he asks.

“Starving,” I reply.

“Then you’re in luck.”

I slide onto a barstool at the island while he plates everything with suspicious efficiency. There’s something dangerously natural about all of this, him cooking and me sitting in his kitchen. The peaceful quiet between us. It feels less like crashing temporarily at someone’s place and more like slipping into a routine we accidentally skipped ahead to.

Without asking, Riley grabs a mug from the cabinet, pours coffee into it, and slides it across the counter toward me. “If I remember correctly, you take it black,” he says casually. “But there’s milk in the fridge if you want it.”

I stare at the mug for a second before looking back up at him. “You remember how I take my coffee?”

His expression fills with confusion, like he doesn’t understand why that would surprise me. “Uh…yeah?”

I take a sip mostly to avoid staring at him too long.

Riley cleans up while I eat breakfast, moving around the kitchen with an ease that tells me this is normal for him.

“What are your plans today?” I ask.

“It’s Sunday.” He shrugs. “Laundry, cleaning, probably grocery shopping later.”

I stare at him. “You’re twenty-two and voluntarily doing chores?”

“I enjoy structure.”

“You’re starting to concern me.”

A laugh slips out of him before he nods toward the stairs. “The bed for the spare room’s getting delivered this afternoon too, so I’m sticking around here until it arrives.”

I nearly choke on my coffee. “You ordered a bed already?”

“Yeah,” he says plainly.

“Riley, you really didn’t have to do that. I could’ve picked up an air mattress today.”

His expression turns serious. “Kinsey, you’re not sleeping on an air mattress.”

The way he says it is like taking care of me is the easiest thing in the world.

I clear my throat and focus very hard on my breakfast. “Well, I’m buying the bedding.”

His grin appears. “Deal.”

I point my fork at him. “And don’t secretly buy those too.”

“No promises.”

“Riley.” I scold.

“Alright, alright.” He laughs, holding his hands up. “Sheets are your department.”

“Thanks.”

When breakfast is over, he heads upstairs for a quick shower. Meanwhile, I remain at the kitchen island, staring into my coffee cup and trying to process the fact that Riley Weston cooks, moisturizes, remembers my coffee order, and kissed me so sweetly last night that I’m still thinking about it twelve hours later.

I’m in serious trouble.