“Yeah, me too.” I squeeze her waist, thumb brushing her side. “Come on. Let’s eat before our pancakes get cold.”
We sit across from each other at the table, plates between us, the air sweet with Vermont syrup my grandma gave us, and nostalgia. Cami reaches for the small container of powderedsugar, pops the lid, and dusts it over her pancakes like she’s been doing it her whole life.
I can’t help watching her. The easy way she moves, the quiet focus in her expression. “Did you always do that? The powdered sugar thing?”
She pauses mid-sprinkle, a smile lighting up her face. “Never used to. But now, whenever I have pancakes, or waffles, or French toast, I dust a little powdered sugar on top as a reminder of what my therapist once told me when I was going through hell: I don’t need to rewrite the past—just edit my future and sprinkle in happiness like powdered sugar on pancakes.”
I lean back, a slow smile forming. “Wow. That’s…actually brilliant.”
“She’s brilliant.” Cami cuts into her stack and takes a bite. “Taught me that bliss doesn’t have to be fancy or grand. It can just be…” She gestures around the table, to me, the pancakes, the kittens running around aimlessly. “…A lot like this.”
For a second, I can’t breathe. Becausethis…the cluttered table, the kittens, her hair slipping loose from that bun…is exactly the vibe I wanted tonight.
She catches me watching. “What?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head, a half smile tugging at my mouth. “It’s just…I didn’t think kittens and pancakes would end up being the highlight of my summer.”
“Theonlyhighlight?” Her brows lift.
“Well…” I lean forward, lowering my voice. “That is howthisall began.”
Her lips curve, slow and knowing, and my pulse kicks up, a too-familiar jolt that reminds me she’s the only place I have no defenses. “Maybe we should eat the rest of our breakfast-for-dinner in bed.”
Smart and beautiful.“Agreed. The kittens can fend for themselves for a few hours.”
Cami rises from her chair, the hem of her shirt catching the light as it skims the tops of her thighs. I stand, too, trailing my Bubble Girl upstairs toward the bedroom, plates in hand but appetite entirely misplaced.
“You think we’ll make it through dinner?” My fingers graze her lower back as she climbs the stairs.
With each step, the shirt lifts a little higher, revealing flashes of smooth skin, the perfect curve of her beautiful bare ass, enough to make my pulse stutter, heat flood my veins, and my cock twitch.
She glances over her shoulder, that wicked half smile curving her lips. “Not a chance.”
We’re still catching our breaths when her lips find the edge of my jaw.
“Where will you stay while the penthouse is up for sale?”
I trail my hand down her spine. “Leasing something simpler.”
“With room for kittens?” she teases, brushing her mouth, her tongue, along my throat.
“With room for all of you, with room for hope,” I quip, “for whatever the hell we become.”
She lifts her head, eyes searching mine, something tender flickering in their depths. “And you’re really okay with…waiting for me to call?”
I cup her face, brushing my thumb along her cheekbone. “I meant what I said, Bubble Girl. You get to decide when this leaves the bubble and crosses into real life. I’ll wait forever if that’s how long it takes to be yours.”
Her lashes dip, and for a second, I think she might cry. But then her lips curve in that way that always ruins me, like she knows exactly what she’s about to do.
She shifts, sliding one leg over my hips until she’s straddling me, bare and beautiful and entirely in control.
“I don’t want to think about tomorrow,” she whispers, fingertips trailing down my chest. “Not yet.”
I grip her thighs, cock already hard again beneath her. “Then don’t.”
She leans down, mouth brushing mine, already in control. “Hush and let me ride you.”
I don’t argue.
