I want to kiss those gently smiling lips. To push his bedroom door open and shove him inside. Collapse onto the bed on top of him. Hug him tight and stay entangled with him all night.
Instead, I murmur, “Goodnight.”
Disappointment flashes in his blue eyes and he ducks his head to hide it. He slips into his room and closes the door before I can take the word back, tell him I’m not ready to part ways yet.
Sighing, I enter the guest bedroom and settle on my borrowed bed. I lie back and clasp my hands on my chest, staring up at the ceiling.
I’m in for another long, quiet night alone, with the person I want most only one room away.
Despite not sleeping well the night before, I wake up earlier than Alex. For about ten minutes, I stare blankly at the ceiling. Then I roll out of bed and start my day.
Maybe it’s rude to make myself at home in Alex’s kitchen, but hopefully a fresh pot of coffee will make up for it. I find bacon, eggs, and cheese in the fridge and bagels in a breadbox on the counter.
Everything is almost ready when the first alarm sounds from Alex’s room. A few minutes later, he shuffles out of his room, still wearing his pajamas. He rubs his face, then looks at me with dazed, bleary eyes. Slowly, his gaze moves around the kitchen, to the bacon cooling on the counter and the eggs frying on the stovetop. “Did you make me breakfast?” he mumbles, his voice husky from sleep.
“Yup, hope you don’t mind.”
He’s quiet for a moment, staring at me, and I think maybe hedoesmind. But then he mumbles a shy thanks and ducks his head.
“How do you like your eggs?”
“Over medium.” He grabs a mug of coffee and pours a generous amount of creamer in it but no sugar. Then he leans against the counter, watching me finish things off. He’s in the same spot he was yesterday, when I knelt before him and tasted his sweet hole. There’s no shyness in him now, as if he doesn’t even remember the experience. I’m tempted to lean over and whisper reminders in his ear until he blushes so hard, even his hair turns red.
I behave myself. Mostly because I don’t want to overcook the eggs.
Once the sandwiches are constructed, I pick up both plates and move to the dining table. We ate almost exclusively on the couch yesterday, which seems to be his preference for casual meals, but the sandwiches are more likely to make a mess.
Alex follows, clutching his mug in both hands.
Is he always this slow to wake in the morning?I imagine what it might have been like to wake up in his bed this morning. To simply enjoy a sleepy armful of Alex for an hour or two. But then I would have been too distracted to make him breakfast.
“You don’t have to do all of this,” he says as he sits down across from me. “You’re my guest. I should be making breakfast for you.”
“I wanted to,” I explain. “Besides, this is my way of thanking you for letting me stay here.”
A furrow creases his brow. It remains even as he eats his sandwich.
Does he not like it?I tried to make it like the one we ordered at the café, but he didn’t have all the ingredients. They had a higher quality bacon and some special spiced sauce.
“I want to, too,” he says. “Cook for you, I mean.”
I open my mouth to tell him he doesn’t have to but there’s a stubborn tilt to his chin. My goal isn’t to run roughshod over him and take over his life. It’s just to show him that he deserves to be taken care of. That he doesn’t have to be solely focused on the other person’s needs, ignoring his own. “Thank you, I’d like that.”
Satisfaction smooths the furrow from his brow, and he nods once. With that decided, he seems to enjoy his breakfast more, enthusiastically devouring the rest of his sandwich. Finished, he wipes his face clean with a napkin, then settles against the back of his chair while he drinks his coffee at a more sedate pace. “So, are you going back to the library today?”
Right, I forgot to tell him about last night. I considered it when he texted me, but I wanted to explain in person, and then we were both distracted. “Iamgoing to the library today, but that’s not where I was last night. Since we both need representation for the annulment, I met with a lawyer.”
“Oh? Who did you choose?”
“Richard.”
The mug pauses halfway to Alex’s lips. He blinks at me, then demands, “Theresa’s Richard?”
I nod.
“But … he’s a dick. And not just because of his name.”
I snort and sip my own coffee, buying myself time to form my explanation. “Richard is familiar with Theresa’s style. They clearly work together often, not just to face off together in the courtroom, but to find amicable solutions. While I’m certainly not fighting the annulment, I don’t want to sit idly by while Theresa paints me as the villain.”
