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I step into him, flattening my hands against his chest. Going to my tiptoes, I press a light kiss on his mouth. “It’ll be fine. I promise. Please stop worrying.”
“I’ll never stop worrying about you,” he replies, one hand sliding to the back of my neck. He deepens the kiss, but not to a level that would melt my panties. Just enough to show his possession and care. When he pulls away, he says, “Want to go out to dinner as we planned?”
I shake my head, offering an apologetic smile. “Honestly… I’m exhausted. Can we just order in?”
“Of course,” he assures me, pressing another quick kiss to my mouth. He turns and pushes me toward his bedroom. “Why don’t you go take a nice long bath and I’ll order us some food. Mediterranean work?”
“Yes,” I groan in relief. “That sounds amazing.”
I don’t even bother to tell him what to get me. He’ll remember. I head off to his bedroom—or has it become our bedroom—looking forward to a nice hot bath to melt away the stress I’m hiding from Callum.
CHAPTER 25
Juniper
Callum’s hand stroking my lower back is so pleasant, I’m in danger of falling back asleep. I mean, how could I not after the two massive orgasms he just doled out after his alarm went off?
“I guess I better hop in the shower,” he murmurs, nuzzling into my neck. “Although, give me about fifteen minutes and we could go for round two.”
Laughing, I glide my fingers along the back of his neck and remind him, “You have a nine a.m. appointment with Brienne you can’t miss.”
“Fuck… sometimes I hate my job,” he grouses but without any real vim. The man adores his career and he should. He’s fantastic at it and it brings him real joy.
“No, you don’t,” I say, disengaging myself from his embrace and pushing his chest. “Go shower. I’ll start coffee and get breakfast going. I’ll make you an omelet.”
“You spoil me,” he growls, pulling me back into him hard for a quick kiss. “I plan on doing the same to you every day for the rest of your life.”
My body goes still while my insides melt. “This feels like a dream.”
“The best dream,” he concurs, nuzzling me again.
“Okay… go shower,” I say, pushing against him. I quickly roll away and off the bed. I can feel the heat of his gaze on my naked backside as I walk out of the room. I don’t dare turn around for fear I’ll be compelled to climb back into bed and he truly does need to get going.
I dart up the stairs, throw on a pair of leggings, a bra and a loose T-shirt. I wrap my hair on top of my head and then make my way back down to the kitchen. It’s a quick stop at the coffee pot to get the java brewing and then I’m out the front door to grab the newspaper.
When Callum started college, he made a habit of reading a physical newspaper every morning. I asked him why all those years ago because it’s not like he focused on just the sports section. He read it front to back and told me, “Knowledge is power. No telling what I might do with my life one day, but a well-read man is an employable man.”
I thought it adorable that he was so serious about his future, even looking past the fact he might not end up in the hockey industry. Since moving in with him, I quickly noted that his habits have not changed. While he drinks coffee in the morning, he at least starts his paper. He never has time to finish it cover to cover on workdays, but he takes it with him to the arena to finish at lunch.
These last two weeks, we’ve settled into a routine where I start the coffee, grab his paper, and then I’ll make him breakfast. He’ll be out of the shower and dressed by the time the food is rolling off the skillet. Oddly, it’s the same routine I had when living under Joshua and Preston’s roof but wholly different. I was the Willards’ servant, paying the toll for the medical care provided to my dad and for my silence whenever Joshua abused me.
I do these things for Callum because I want to and because I love caring for him. It brings me joy to help him prepare for his day.
It’s lovely and warm out already, but the grass is cool and dewy on my bare feet as I forsake the sidewalk and head to the mailbox at the corner of his driveway. Callum lives in a newly constructed neighborhood on the outskirts of the city. There are already people working in their yards to beat the summer heat and others traversing the pristine sidewalks.
I wave hello to the couple next door that I met—Melinda and Cameron—as they sit on their front porch drinking coffee.
When I reach the mailbox with the newspaper receptacle underneath, I step one foot off the curb and lean around it to grab the daily news. My mind processes very quickly that something’s not right, and my hand jerks back before I fully understand what I’m seeing.
It’s the cream and orange fur matted with blood that tears a high-pitched scream out of my throat.
“Juniper?” Cameron calls out in concern and I glance over to see him and Melinda running my way.
My gaze goes back to the receptacle, stuffed full of what I can pretty much guess is a dead cat. Cameron reaches me first and when Melinda careens around her husband, she takes one look at the horror and lets out a piercing scream that hurts my ears.
I automatically reach out to her, looping my arm over her shoulders and taking one of her hands in mine.
“What the fuck is that?” Cameron exclaims.
