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Before I can even take a step, Yakov reaches towards me. “Come here, Luna.”
I’m just out of range. I could ignore him and sit down. But I don’t want to.
I take a step closer and it’s just enough for Yakov to grab my hand and pull me close. I collide with his hard chest and he dips low and presses his lips to my forehead.
“Good morning,” he rumbles again, his mouth just next to my ear. “Are you hungry?”
Oh, he’s playing real dirty this morning.
I nod.
His hand grips my waist for just a second before he gently pushes me towards the table. “Sit down. I’ll make you a plate.”
I sit down and sneak glances at him standing over the stove. The way his forearms flex as he flips and stirs, the shadow of stubble along his square jaw.
When he slides my plate in front of me, I take a deep, shameless sniff of him. He smells like he always does, spiced and woodsy. It has me hungry for something else entirely, but I smother the fire in my belly and dig into the eggs and bacon.
It’s incredible. The bacon is perfectly crispy and the scrambled eggs are fluffy with peppers and onions and cheese mixed in. He even put a cup of fresh berries on the side.
He’s taking care of me. Or taking care of the baby, I think bitterly.
Will he shut the baby out the way he likes to shut me out? When things get tense, will he stop talking to our child and give them the cold shoulder? Yakov can be so warm and loving and fun, but he knows how to turn it on and off. I don’t want my child to love Yakov if he can dial his love up and down at will.
I don’t want them to live that way and I don’t want to live that way, either.
No matter how many nice breakfasts Yakov makes, I’m not going to just forget yesterday happened. I’m not going to forgive him until he apologizes and?—
“I’m sorry about last night.” Yakov puts down his fork and looks at me.
His eyes are unbelievably green. I stare into them and forget for a second what we’re even talking about.
Then I remember and lift my chin. “You should be.”
I think his mouth tips up in amusement, but it's gone before I can be sure. "You have every right to be mad at me."
"I don't need your permission to be mad," I fire back. "You yelled at me for no reason. And you did it in front of Kayla. I spent all day convincing her that I'm happier here than I've ever been and then you walked in and yelled at me. It didn't exactly prove my point."
Now, I'm positive he's amused. “You’re happier than ever?”
I narrow my eyes. “I was. Before you sent my best friend away with no explanation and yelled at me.”
“That’s fair.”
“It is?” I blink at him. Then I shake my head. “I mean, I know it is. But you… agree with me?”
He nods. “Before, I was keeping you in the dark because it was safer. You couldn’t go back to your normal life once I told you about all of the shit that goes on in mine. But now, there is no fucking way I’m letting you go. This is your life, and you deserve to know what’s going on. Even when I wish I could protect you from the stress of it.”
I swallow down the emotion rising in my throat. “I thought you were playing dirty before with the shirtless chef routine, but that was a real low blow.”
“I’m not the one who came down in the world’s tiniest tank top and shorts.”
“And a blanket!” I shrug my shoulders and the fleece blanket slips to the floor. “It wasn’t on purpose. I didn’t grab any pajamas before I stormed into the guest room last night. I didn’t want to leave to get pajamas and run into you.”
“Because you were so mad?” he asks.
“Yeah, that… and because I was afraid you’d force me to forgive you before I was ready.”
“Does that mean you’re ready to forgive me now?” He grabs both of our plates and carries them over to the sink.
