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Was she was going to be eight million pounds from eating a pan of his newest combination every week? Yup.
She didn’t care.
Because Anything Brownies had become their thing.
Just like negotiating those lunches and dinners and when they could eat sweet potato fries. And cuddling on her side of the bed until she fell asleep, only to be half-awakened by him gently rolling away, plugging in her cell, and turning out the lights before he cozied back up to her.
Waking in the morning, their legs tangled, their bodies pressed together.
Feeling safe and loved andnotfilled with panic that she was going to fuck things up.
Giving. Taking.
It was good. It wasgreat.
So yeah, she owed Aunt Pat a lifetime of Anything Brownies.
Smiling, she burrowed a little closer to Connor, inhaling his scent, bringing it into her nose, her lungs, not wanting to get out of bed. Not when she was in her happy place.
Safe. Home.Hers.
“Mmm,” he murmured, arms tightening around her. “Remind me why we agreed to this?” A grumbling question.
Her fault.
Because she’d shown her appreciation for his latest batch of Anything Brownies very…vigorouslythe night before. They’d been her favorite combination thus far—her puffed rice mix swirled with raspberry jelly.
“You’rethe one who’s used to the morning shift,” she teased, sitting up and bunching her hair on top of her head. “Shouldn’t you be awake with a pep in your step?”
Another grumble. Followed by caveman speak. “Too early. Sleep more.”
She giggled. “It wasyouridea,” she pointed out.
To have her weekly get together with her friends for breakfast.
Because Connor wanted to take her on a date—a real date to a nice restaurant (“with tablecloths and menu that isn’t printed on greasy paper”)—that night.
She was down…because give and take.
But also, because she hardly ever had the chance to get gussied up, and she had a tiny, black dress and heels that laced around her ankles that made her legs lookgoodshe could put on. Both of which were thing she almost never wore.
Usually, she was in scrubs and a lab coat, who knew what (and it was often blood or vomit or some combination of the two) staining her clothes. Or she was in pajamas or sweats and a tee, lounging on the couch. Or shorts and a swimsuit, heading to the beach. Or jeans and a tee, hanging with Connor’s family or her friends.
Mostly scrubs.
And not often having the opportunity to dress up.
So, she was going to knock his socks off.
And hopefully every other item of clothing as well.
Heh.
“I take my idea back,” he muttered, dropping a hand to her thigh.
She shivered. “Well, I don’t—ah!”
One moment, she’d been giggling and smiling down at the grouchy expression on his face. The next, she was on her back, her very rumpled and sexyandgrumpy man on top of her. “I’m canceling our reservations. We’ll spend the day in bed and DoorDash in our meals.”
