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I smile, "That sounds like a sensible plan."
We cuddle closer, our bodies fitting together like two perfect puzzle pieces. The conversation lulls, and I can feel both of us growing tired, the weight of the day and the intensity of our experiences catching up.
We're both drifting, slowly falling asleep, still wrapped in each other's arms, happy to have met each other.
Chapter 9 - Lauren
I open my eyes to the soft glow of morning light filtering through the curtains. For a moment, I feel disoriented, but as the haze of sleep lifts, the realization hits me—I've woken up happier than I've been in weeks, maybe even months.
I feel safe. I feel loved.
Turning my head, I see Dennis still asleep beside me. His face is the picture of tranquility, a stark contrast to the usually sharp, lawyerly look he carries.
He seems younger in sleep, his rugged features softened, and in this quiet moment, he's even more breathtakingly handsome.
My thoughts drift to the obvious ethical implications of what transpired between us. I'm fully aware of the complicated space we now occupy—ex-client and lawyer-turned-lovers.
I push aside the flickering fear that he might get cold feet. I can't let that spoil what feels like the start of something genuinely special. We already talked about it. We’ll go slow. We’ll make it work.
Dennis stirs beside me, his eyes fluttering open. For a moment, he looks disoriented, but then his gaze finds mine, and he smiles.
"Good morning," he murmurs, his voice gravelly with sleep.
"Morning," I reply, leaning in to kiss him.
The kiss starts off tender but quickly becomes passionate, as if neither of us can get enough. Dennis pulls away reluctantly and looks at me, his eyes twinkling.
"You look gorgeous in the morning, you know that?"
I laugh, flattered and a little embarrassed.
"Stop it, you're making me blush."
"We can't have that, can we?" He grins and swings his legs off the bed. "How about we make some breakfast? I'm starving."
Together, we head to the kitchen. Dennis finds pancake mix in one of the cabinets, and I grab a bowl and whisk from another.
"So, are you any good at this, or am I going to regret letting you near food?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Are you questioning my pancake-making abilities?" Dennis feigns outrage. "I'll have you know, I am a master of breakfast foods."
"We'll see about that," I say skeptically, chuckling as he dramatically pours the mix into the bowl.
He catches me sneaking a bit of batter to taste.
"Hey, no sampling the goods before they're done!"
"What's the matter? Scared I'll discover your secret lack of culinary talent?"
"Absolutely not. I am an open book. A very skilled, pancake-flipping book."
We both laugh, and I can't help but think how natural this feels—standing in a kitchen, joking around, and making breakfast with someone who was a stranger to me just days ago.
Dennis flips a pancake high in the air, catching it expertly back in the pan.
"See? What'd I tell you? Master." He says, winking.
"I'm impressed," I admit. "But the real test is in the tasting."
