Page 79 of I Saw You First

“Sorry I don’t have an espresso machine to make you an Irish cream latte,” I say as she takes the first sip.

Her eyes flutter shut, and she hums. “This is better than an Irish cream latte.”

“Oh, really?”

She opens her eyes and meets mine. “I’d rather drink day-old gas station swill with you than the most exquisite latte without you.”

I hold her gaze and it’s all I can do to not walk over to her, put my hands on either side of her face, and kiss her senseless. But I’ve got eggs on the stove, and I’m not about to let the yolks overcook the first time I make Abbey breakfast, no matter how distracting she is.

“Are you saying my coffee tastes like gas station swill?”

She smiles. “This is the best coffee I’ve ever had.”

To hell with the eggs. I walk around the counter and kiss her senseless.

After breakfast (the yolks were overcooked, but she didn’t complain), after I’ve loaded the dishwasher and wiped down the island, Abbey flops back into the broad cushions of my sofa.

“This couch!” She spreads her arms out wide. “Where did you get this couch? The cloud factory? I can’t get enough of this cloud couch.”

“Are you saying you want to spend the day on my couch?”

“If the couch fits.” She yawns. “I’m exhausted. Someone kept me up most of the night.”

“You didn’t seem to mind.” I walk into the living room and sit next to her. She instantly curls herself against my chest. I could get used to this.

She yawns again. “I need a shower and another cup of coffee. Do you have some clothes I could borrow?”

“I’ll find you some sweats and a toothbrush and show you how to work the shower.”

She snorts. “Only rich people say things like that.”

Later, when she’s dressed in an old pair of Gophers sweatpants and a Twins hoodie that dwarfs her, she curls into a corner of the sofa like she belongs there. I toss her a blanket and sit down next to her, close, our legs touching.

“Hey!” She strokes her hand over the wool blanket, red buffalo plaid. “This is exactly like the one I borrowed from your car. You have more than one of these?”

“Borrowed?” I echo. “Borrowed would indicate that you plan to return it at some point.”

“Oh, true. The blanket you gave me.”

“Ha! The blanket you stole from me. I bought a new one.”

She tosses the blanket aside and moves to straddle me. “Who needs a blanket when I’ve got you to warm me up?”

And then she kisses me, and moves herself against me, and those sweatpants of mine are on the floor before she knows what’s happening.

We lie together on the cloud couch. We’re both sweaty, sticky, satisfied, spent. I’ll never get enough of this woman. And I’ll probably never understand this intense connection between us. I want to ask her if she feels it, too—the electricity, the relief, the homecoming, the rightness of it all.

“I’ll be right back.” I pull myself away from her.

“Mmhmm.” It seems that she hasn’t yet regained the power of speech.

I’m quick to take care of business so I can get back to my new favorite place—the cloud couch, or, in general, wherever Abbey is.

I’ve got it bad.

I glance at my reflection. For the first time in—I don’t know, years?—the purple wells beneath my eyes have lightened, the deep furrow between my brows has smoothed out. The corners of my mouth turn up.

This must be what happiness looks like. Her presence is a calming balm, a meditation, a cure for everything that ails me.