Like forever.
Like the last page of a romance novel, written in ink that would never dry.
Like a man whose soul was mine to keep, yet it burned slowly and was dangerous to hold.
Sighing, I opened my eyes, breathed him in, and sat up.
You should have woken me. I wanted to make sure you were okay. . .I wanted to hold you and have you hold me.
I spotted a note on the nightstand, reached over, and picked it up. His handwriting was intensely sharp with angled letters pressed deep into the paper, almost cutting and slicing it away.
I grinned.
Even his handwriting is violent.
I read it.
Tora.
You looked so beautiful and peaceful. I didn’t want to wake you. My queen deserves to rest and so much more.
I love you.
I'll be in my office if you need me.
Enjoy the day.
I read it three times, held it against my chest, and still hated that I'd missed him.
Like me, Kenji was carrying grief mixed with insurmountable stress for the battle to come and. . .he wouldn’t say that he needed my help, but his dragon-shadow had shown that he did.
I wanted to help him carry it all, to sit in the dark with him and say, “Give me half.”
Wasn’t that what people did for those they loved?
Didn’t they share the burden of pain, grief, and fear?
Didn’t they take the time out to heal each other?
But I'd slept.
And he'd left.
And now the sun was pouring through the windows in warm gold sheets, and the day was already moving without me.
Fuck. Let me get dressed. I’ve also got that Claws’ party tonight.
I spent the rest of the morning getting ready. I showered, pulled on black yoga pants and a simple black top. I gathered mygoddess braids in a high ponytail so I could easily move around the kitchen and cook.
Once done, I hurried down to the kitchen, telling myself that I would just make sure everything was started and then go check on Kenji.
When I got to the kitchen, so many things hit me before I even crossed the threshold. Savory warmth first.
Then sound. Miles Davis moved through the speakers like he owned the room.
Next, the smell of caramelized onions soft and dark in their own sweetness, garlic catching the edge of the flame, and meat slowly braising.
Three new sous chefs were already deep in their stations, locked into their own private wars with the food.
