Page 123 of Meant to be Mine

“Drew.” I turned to look at him. “What is this?”

“I figured you might want to stay in after a long week.” He looked almost nervous, like he wasn’t sure if he’d done the right thing. “We can still totally go out if you want. I can put all this in the fridge and we can head to the restaurant. I just thought maybe you’d rather be comfortable. No waiting for a table, no getting dressed up, no heels.”

I kissed him. Hard. Cutting off his rambling with my mouth on his.

“This is perfect,” I said against his lips. “Absolutely perfect.”

His shoulders relaxed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. This is so much better than going out. Thank you.”

He grinned and pulled me close, his arms wrapping around my waist. “Good. Because I really wanted to keep you all to myself tonight.”

We stood there for a moment, just holding each other in the kitchen surrounded by enough Italian food to feed a small army. I felt the stress of the week melting away.

“Come on,” he said eventually, pulling back. “Let me take care of you.”

He led me to the couch, gently pushing me down onto the cushions. Before I could protest, he was kneeling in front of me, pulling off my shoes.

“Drew, what are you doing?”

“Shh.” He picked up my left foot and started massaging, his thumbs digging into my arch. “Just relax.”

I groaned, my head falling back against the couch. “Oh my God. You are so good at this.”

“I’m going to get plenty of practice.”

“It feels so good. But the food; it’ll get cold.”

“It can wait twenty minutes.” His hands moved up to my ankle, working out knots I didn’t know I had. “You’ve been on your feet all day. You need this.”

I didn’t argue. I couldn’t. The massage felt too incredible. I closed my eyes and let him work, his strong hands kneading away the tension in my feet and calves. Every touch was intentional and careful, like he was trying to erase the entire week’s worth of stress through his fingertips alone.

“You’re too good to me,” I murmured.

“Impossible. I could never be good enough to you.”

He switched to my other foot, giving it the same thorough attention. I felt myself melting into the couch, my body going boneless and relaxed. This man. This incredible, thoughtful, perfect man who’d upended his entire life to be with me.

I loved him so much it physically hurt sometimes.

I woke up early Saturday morning, Drew’s arm heavy across my waist. The sun was just starting to filter through the bedroom windows. I was still getting used to the idea of living in such a grand place. I could hear the waves through the open window that I insisted on. I loved the fresh breeze. I loved the small and the sound. I lay there for a moment, listening to his breathing, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against my back.

Then I remembered the ingredients I’d bought earlier in the week. Blueberry muffins. His favorite. I’d been planning to make them for days but the timing had never been right. This morning felt perfect. I carefully extracted myself from his arms, holding my breath as he shifted but didn’t wake. Once I was free, I grabbed one of his shirts from the floor and pulled it on, padding quietly out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

I started the coffeemaker first, then pulled out all the ingredients I’d stashed in the pantry. Flour, sugar, fresh blueberries, eggs, milk, butter. I’d even bought the good vanilla extract from the fancy grocery store downtown. Drew refused to let me pay rent, so I had some disposable cash.

I moved around his kitchen with familiar ease now. I knew where everything was. Which drawer held the measuring cups. Which cabinet had the mixing bowls. This place had become mine without me even realizing it was happening. I had put my fingerprint on it with my colorful towels and hot pads. My cookbooks were on a shelf.

The batter came together quickly. I folded in the blueberries carefully, making sure they were evenly distributed. Then I filled the muffin tin and slid it into the preheated oven. Twenty-five minutes. I set the timer and poured myself coffee. I carried it to the window to stare at the ocean. It was a bit of a gray morning. Perfect for fresh muffins.

The smell started after about ten minutes. That incredible aroma of baking that made the whole house feel warm and lived in. I checked through the oven window as the muffins rose, their tops turning golden brown.

The timer went off just as I heard footsteps on the stairs. I grabbed the oven mitts and pulled out the tray, setting it on the cooling rack I’d already positioned on the counter.

“Is that what I think it is?” Drew’s voice was rough with sleep.

I turned to see him standing in the kitchen in nothing but boxer briefs, his hair sticking up in about seventeen different directions. He looked adorable and rumpled and I wanted to eat him up. I had feasted on his body last night. The evidence of our lovemaking was staring at me with three stripes across his chest from my nails.