I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in years, and it was all thanks to Maya’s presence. I loved the way she looked at me, like I was simultaneously the most impressive and most ridiculous thing she'd ever encountered. Having her here with me was everything I’d dreamed it would be, and better.
“We should probably get up,” I said, even though I had zero desire to move. “You need breakfast. And I should check the road conditions, see if the plows have made it up yet.”
“Or,” Maya said, walking her fingers up my chest, “we could stay in bed a little longer. Remember what you promised me.”
“I thought you were sore.”
“I am. But there are other things we could do.” Her hand drifted lower, and I caught it before she could destroy what little self-control I had left.
“Maya, you’re killing me.”
“That’s the idea.”
“You need to eat.”
“I can eat.”
I caught her gaze. “Don’t look at me like that. I see the hunger in your eyes, but I didn’t mean eat me. I mean real food. I’m not going to be responsible for you collapsing from exhaustion and hunger.”
She pouted and I couldn’t help but smile because she looked adorable. “Fine,” she huffed. “But after breakfast?”
“After breakfast,” I promised, sealing it with a kiss that threatened to derail my noble intentions entirely.
We eventually made it out of bed, though it took longer than it should have. Maya had to borrow more of my clothes, hers werescattered on the floor, the jeans halfway in the hallway, a victim of last night’s enthusiasm. She emerged from the bathroom wearing my flannel shirt like a dress, the sleeves rolled up about six times, and I had to grip the kitchen counter to keep myself from dragging her right back to bed.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she said, but she was smiling.
“Like what?”
“Like you want to eat me for breakfast.”
“I’m not.” I paused. “Okay, I am, but can you blame me? You’re gorgeous and wearing my clothes again. It does things to me.”
“Good things, I hope.”
“Very good things.”
She settled onto a barstool at the kitchen island, tucking her legs up under her. “So what’s for breakfast? More of your amazing pancakes?”
“How’s about an omelet? Assuming you’re not allergic to anything. I should have asked that before.”
“I’m not. And omelets sound perfect.” She watched me pull ingredients from the fridge. “Can I help?”
“Keep me company. That’s enough help.”
“I could chop vegetables or something. I’m not completely useless in a kitchen.”
“Maya, you’re recovering from a car crash and,” I blushed, “last night’s activities. Let me take care of you.”
Something soft crossed her face. “You like doing that, don’t you? Taking care of people.”
“No. Not people. You. I like taking care of you.” I started dicing peppers with perhaps more focus than necessary. “Is that weird?”
“No. It’s sweet. Just different from what I’m used to.” She was quiet for a moment. “My ex used to complain that I was too independent. Said it made him feel useless.”
My jaw tightened. “Your ex was an idiot.”
“We’ve already established this.”
