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Damn, is there a better view than a man in the kitchen cooking?
I throw my arms around him and rest my chin on his shoulder to see what he’s cooking that smells so divine.
“Phew! Babe, you stink.” He laughs and pushes me off him.
Lifting my tank top to my nose, I take a quick whiff and scrunch my nose.Yep, I am definitely a little ripe.
“Breakfast will be ready soon. Why don’t you go rinse off before I lose my appetite, or worse, you add more salt to this with your sweat dripping everywhere.”
“Yes, boss.” I salute and press a quick kiss to his cheek as he shakes his head at me, chuckling. I turn on my heels and race upstairs. I don’t bother grabbing my clothes from my room first and head straight for the shower. The warm water feels good against my sore muscles. I stand there for a moment, thankful for another morning run, soaking up the feeling before lathering up the loofah and running it over my body.
My body tenses as it runs over the scars on my body: a forever reminder of what was lost. Why, with the already daily reminder when I look in the mirror, did I torture myself by running past his house? Why today? There hasn’t been a single call, text, or visit in years—not since the night he left. It took me years to stop daydreaming that one day he would come back for me or that it was all a nightmare that he left and I would wake up surrounded by his arms. Becausehe did leave—when I needed him most.
I press my back against the cold tile and regain composure of my breathing. I turn the shower off and grab the plush yellow towel off the rack. Every time I wrap the towel around my body, I laugh. Austin hates the brightness of the yellow. When we picked them out for our bathroom, I wanted this over his dark gray option. All it took was a pouty face from me and a loud sigh from him, and we filled our cart up with loads of sunshine.
I scurry across the hall to my room and toss the damp towel on top of the pile of dirty clothes on the floor. I can hear Austin’s voice in my head reminding me of the hamper right next to the pile, but I choose to ignore it. In record time, I’m walking down the stairs dressed in yoga pants and another tank while pulling my wet hair into a messy bun.
I reenter the kitchen just as Austin is putting his plate into the sink. I notice he’s dressed in jeans and a henley and not his typical Saturday morning attire of gym shorts and a T-shirt.
“Where are you off to today?” I ask, taking a seat at the table in our kitchen nook. This is one of my favorite things about the house. Through the triple-pane bay window, we can watch the sunrise paint the sky the most gorgeous shades of pinks and oranges while sipping on coffee. When Austin and I first looked at this house, I envisioned something like that, but nothing compared to reality.
I lean down and inhale the delicious aroma of the ham and green pepper omelet topped with homemade pico in front of me.Mm, Austin is an amazing cook, and I don’t deserve the way he spoils the crap out of me.
I’m not even ashamed of the moan that escapes my lips seconds after shoving a forkful of food into my mouth.
Austin spins around, chuckling, and leans against the sink. “Mom needs some help around the house, so I’m going to spend some time over there.”
“You need any help? I don’t really have plans today other than some things around here, but I could push those to tomorrow.”
He pushes off the counter and stalks toward me as I take another bite of the food he prepared. “Nah, enjoy the quiet. I’ll bring you some leftovers, though.”
Even though I’m still eating, my mouth waters at the thought of Mrs. Hayes’s cooking. I swear there must have been something in the water, or maybe folks made a deal with the devil because all the women of that generation are amazing cooks. The hardest job in town is being a judge for any of the cooking and baking competitions.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree with Austin’s skills in the kitchen. “Oh my God, I would love you for life.” I look up at him and bat my eyelashes, giving him a loving smile.
Austin presses a kiss to my temple and laughs. “You mean you don’t already?” I roll my eyes at his sarcasm.Of course I do.“So, how many miles did you get in, by the way?”
“I don’t know, maybe three-ish?” I know it’s more, but that’s covered with the “ish.”I don’t add that I went on a different route because I know that would open up a whole other can of worms that I’m not ready to open now—if ever.
“Don’t push yourself, babe. Remember to stretch, hear me?”
He pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger and stares down at me when I don’t answer. I know he worries that I’ll push myself too far. Austin was there through it all—the rehab and therapy sessions.
“Yes, sir.” I salute with my fork.
He mutters, “Jackass,” as he brushes past me.
“Tell your ’rents I say hey,” I shout over my shoulder.
“Always. Love you,” he yells back, followed by the jingling of his keys in hand.
“Love you, too,” I say as the front door closes. I stare out the window until I watch his car disappear out of the driveway.
I all but lick the plate clean. After cleaning up the kitchen, I head into the living room for some post-run stretching. I may not admit it to Austin, but he is often right. I may have overdone it a little today. I blame that on my unexpected detour.
First, I stretch my hamstrings, then my quads and calves.
Now, on to my least favorite chore—laundry. After washing the three loads of laundry I ignored all week, I bring the basket to the couch and turn on a cooking show, one of my guilty pleasures, to watch while folding.
