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Needing a cigarette, since I just went through a turmoil of emotions, I put on my boxers, pad toward the terrace, and lean on the doorframe as I smoke, exhaling into the warm night air. I hear the fridge opening and closing, and when I turn, I catch Kat’s gaze on me, her eyes dropping to her hands right away, a little smile on her lips.
She’s put on a long baby-blue surfer tank that goes just below her ass but leaves the sides of her torso open and makes her long tanned legs look even more gorgeous. Her hair hangs over one shoulder, her face slightly puffy from crying, lips swollen from my kisses, cheeks flushed from me working her up twice in a row—my doing, thank you very much. And I can’t hold back a smile as she fusses with the bowls and a pot, grabs something out of the fridge, closing it with her foot, then licks the spoon she just used to stir the pot.
Kat. With a pot. In her kitchen. Warming up food for me.
There are dozens of little things about this scenario that would’ve seemed ridiculous and impossible a month ago.
And yet…
“It’s nothing fancy,” she explains almost apologetically as we sit down side by side at the kitchen island and dip our spoons into the bowls of soup. “It’sCaldo de Res,a Mexican soup. My dad’s friend used to make it all the time.”
“It’s good,” I say, taking spoon after spoon of the beef-and-vegetable soup, the taste of it lost on me as I still can’t believe what’s happening. Now that I think of it, I’m pretty sure no girl I ever dated cooked for me. Most grew up with maids.
There’s a knock at the door.
“Expecting anyone?” I ask, jealousy scratching at my heart at the sound. This resort used to be full of my friends. Now, Kat has more friends than I do.
She gives me a reproachful look. “I was supposed to be getting ready to leave tomorrow, right?”
Right.
The knocking turns into banging.
“Kat! Open up!” Marlow yells angrily as he jerks on the door handle.
Slowly, I rise from the table and pad to the front door, not a bit flustered at the fact that I open it only in my boxers.
Marlow’s scowl is the first thing I see, which changes into gaping as his eyes scan me up and down.
“I guess it’s all sorted,” he murmurs, his expression softening.
I lean with my forearm on the doorframe. “What is?” I want to hear it from him.
He rolls his eyes, cocking his head. “Dude, she’s not leaving, is she.” There’s no question in his voice but an angry reproach.
“Not alive, no.”
He snorts and is already walking off. “Have a good night,” he says without turning, and when I close the door, Kat is aimlessly stirring the soup in her bowl, trying really hard not to grin.
I want to do all sorts of things to her, but we are both exhausted. Cortisol and adrenalin get released into the system, triggering excessive production of serotonin, all of which eventually start running low.
We are drained, but I know that I’m falling asleep in her bed, and tomorrow she won’t run away. For now, we are good.
We put out the lights and get in Kat’s bed.
It feels surreal, like I’ve finally gotten close enough to her, feeling her next to me under the sheet though she doesn’t come close.
“Come here,” I whisper.
“You are not a cuddler, remember?” she whispers back.
Unbelievable. “I said, come here.”
She shimmies over, but not close enough.
“Katura,” I warn her. She’s playing, little spy.
“Using big words, Mr. Chancellor?” Kat is back, the sassy thing that she is.
