Her nose scrunches in the cutest way. “Angel? That’s really what we’re going with?”
Shrugging, I ignore the edge of self-consciousness seeping in. Now that she’s in my arms, I’m more committed than ever to showing her how much I care. “It’s right there in your name,” I tell her. “Plus, when I watch your lives, and that bright light reflects like a halo against your pupils?—”
Her eyes go wide. “You’ve watched my lives?”
I press my lips together, heat creeping through me.
“Did you know I was going live tonight? Did you plan all this?” She looks from me to the shopping bag and partially prepared ingredients spread across the island.
“I… Well, actually—” I mentally stumble through a series of explanations that could pass as a reasonable excuse for my obsessive behavior but come up short.
Fuck it.
Why the fuck should I be embarrassed to admit my desire to showup and care for this woman? Yes, I did plan this. I stalked her socials, planned the menu based on her needs, and arranged my schedule so I’d be finished with work by the time she started her live stream. Now, I’m standing in her hotel room, slicing tomatoes, initiating the most intentional interaction we’ve ever shared.
Clearing my throat, I stand straighter and lean into my truth. “I assumed you’d be exhausted after your live. I thought perhaps you could enjoy another bath while I cooked. Then we could sit down and have dinner together.”
Her eyes narrow, but the corners of her mouth turn up almost imperceptibly. “How do you know my hotel room even has a tub?”
Nope. Not going there. I’m eager to express my admiration and desire to spend time with this woman, but admitting I have anything to do with her luxury accommodations is a step too far.
“My room has one, so I figured yours does, too.” Licking my lips, I resist the urge to kiss her.
Her brows lift, hinting that she sees right through my lie. But rather than admonish me, she rests her cheek against my sternum, nestling close and taking in a deep breath.
When she exhales, her body relaxes a little more, her soft frame molding against me perfectly. We’re two puzzle pieces, clicking into place. Two weary souls, disarmed and vulnerable, trusting each other enough to lean in despite all the unknowns and potential consequences.
“Thank you for showing up for me,” she murmurs, the words muffled by the fabric of my polo.
I could stand like this forever, holding her, being a soft, safe place for her to land. She deserves soft. She deserves easy. She deserves to have her basic needs met and more.
With a breath in, relishing her scent, I drag one hand up her spine.
“Go relax.” Reluctantly, I release her, resisting the urge to kiss the top of her head. “Food will be ready in forty-five minutes.”
I step back to give her space and instantly miss her warmth and softness.
With a small smile, she shakes her head and wanders out of the kitchen.
Half an hour later, she returns, her hair damp at the ends and her cheeks flushed the prettiest pink. Her animal-print pajama set is so very her. It delights me, really, that she’s comfortable enough to wear pajamas and just be herself with me.
I pull out one of the barstools, eager for her to dig in. I make sureshe’s completely settled and has everything she might need before joining her.
I track her movements out of the corner of my eye as she takes her first bite. Silence ensues, and concern grips my insides.
“Is it okay? I tried to replicate the dish I made in Austin.”
She eyes me, offering me a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s really good. Thank you.”
She takes another bite. Her expression remains blank as she chews and swallows.
After a few more seconds I can’t help but ask, “Are you sure it’s okay? I could make something else, or?—”
She sets down her fork and swivels in her seat until she’s facing me. With her legs tangled with mine to keep the barstool locked in place, she tucks her damp hair behind both ears.
“Everything is delicious, and nothing is wrong. I’m just utterly exhausted.” She sighs. “I worked a full day today, then came home and immediately had to prep for my live. I’ve worked thirteen hours so far, and I’m not done yet.”
I grind my molars, equal parts angry and exasperated that she’s working so hard.
