“Morning.” I brush her hair away from her face, and she smiles. It’s small and real, and my heart stutters in a way I refuseto analyze this early. We lie there longer than we should, trading lazy conversation and quiet touches, neither of us in a hurry to move. But eventually the sunlight shifts across the room, and I know if we lay here any longer, we’ll never leave. Not that I’d complain.
Quinn stretches beside me with a sleepy little sound, then slips out of bed before I can talk myself into pulling her back in. I watch her cross the room, completely unselfconscious, tugging one of my T-shirts over her head. It swallows her whole, hanging loose over her thighs, and something warm settles low in my chest.
She glances back and catches me staring. “What?” she asks, smiling.
“Nothing,” I lie.
She snorts softly and pads toward the kitchen. I drag myself out of bed a minute later, running a hand through my hair as I head to the bathroom. The mirror catches me mid-yawn; messy, sleepy, and grinning like an idiot. I pause, toothbrush halfway to my mouth. Yeah. I’m in it. And I don’t even want out.
By the time I step into the kitchen, the smell of coffee fills the air. Quinn stands at the counter, hair messy, humming quietly while she pops slices of bread into the toaster. The sight stops me for a second. It’s such a small thing. So ordinary. So domestic. And it hits me right in the chest.
I walk up behind her without thinking, sliding my arms around her waist. She leans back into me like she was waiting for it. “Morning, baby.” The word slips out before I think. I don’t take it back. I just drop a kiss against the back of her head.
She laughs softly. “Didn’t we already do this part?”
“I don’t know,” I chuckle, tightening my hold. “Feels like we might’ve skipped something.”
She tilts her head back, eyes sparkling. “You mean like yesterday morning?”
My grin grows. “Maybe.”
She turns in my arms, hands sliding up my chest. “I mean… if you’re game.”
“Dangerous thing to say.”
Her smile turns wicked. That’s all the invitation I need. I kiss her slowly at first, letting it build; the warmth of her, the soft sound she makes when I pull her closer. No rush this time. We already know where this goes. My hands slide beneath the hem of the shirt, fingertips brushing warm skin as her breath catches.
The toaster pops loudly behind us. Neither of us moves. The kitchen fills with quiet laughter, with heat and tangled limbs and the kind of urgency that feels playful instead of reckless like we’re both learning how to fit together in this new way. And the world narrows again.
Later, when we’re both laughing and breathless and the coffee has gone slightly cold, I lean back against the counter, watching her tuck her hair behind her ear.
“We should probably leave the apartment today,” I suggest, still catching my breath.
She raises a brow. “You already tired of me?”
“Never.” I grin. “But it’s almost October. Not gonna be too many warm days left. Figured we should take advantage. We could hit this cool farmer’s market that’s just a few blocks away.”
She studies me for a second, then smiles, soft and easy. “Okay,” she shrugs. “Let’s go.”
We finish our coffee, do a quick clean-up of the kitchen, and then take a quick shower, separately this time. When we step outside, the air is cool, the city buzzing softly around us.
She walks close beside me, shoulder brushing mine every few steps like it’s unconscious. I don’t move away. Instead, I pull her hand into mine, her fingers threading into mine like we’ve done it a thousand times.
The market is crowded but not overflowing in that way that makes you feel claustrophobic. There’s music drifting from somewhere, people weaving between stalls, the smell of coffee and fresh bread hanging in the air. We wander slowly. She stops at a produce stand, inspecting tomatoes like its serious business while I pretend not to laugh.
“You judging me?” Her attention focused entirely on the tomato in her hand.
“Absolutely.” I grin. It feels easy.
We pick out things for dinner; vegetables, fresh bread and something sweet she insists we need for dessert, even though we definitely don’t. At one stall selling vintage band T-shirts, the guy behind the table looks up and freezes.
“Holy shit.” His eyes widening. “You’re Mikey, right? The drummer for Devil’s Halo?”
I’m wearing a ball cap and sunglasses, but sometimes it’s still hard to keep a low profile. I give him a polite smile as I stroll a bit closer to his table. “Yeah, man.”
He launches into how he saw our last show a few weeks ago, how the show changed his life, the usual stuff. I’m used to it. It’s nice. I’m not always the one to get recognized. Then his eyes flick toward Quinn. He grins. “Didn’t realize you had a girlfriend.”
Girlfriend.I don’t correct him. I like the way it sounds. And that’s new. Without conscious thought, my hand slides to the small of Quinn’s back, like it belongs there. She glances up at me, surprised, and that’s when I realize I did it. My brain stutters for half a second. Because normally I’d laugh it off. Keep things vague. Avoid labels. But standing there with her tucked against my side, the word doesn’t feel wrong. If anything, it feels right. Dangerously right.
