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“I’m great,” she says, a little breathlessly. He nods but looks like he doesn’t believe her, and takes the offered plate from her.
He sits beside Enzo, closer than I’ve seen them sit beside each other, and I smile at the sight. They’re getting more comfortable navigating the new direction their relationship is going, but more than that, they’re getting more comfortable around us.
“Orange or apple juice?” she asks as she dips her head down to look at the fridge. “We have milk, too.” She gives me a grateful look, and I wink at her. She’s been low on groceries every day I’ve been here, so I did a quick shop yesterday afternoon, much to her annoyance and appreciation.
“I can get it,” Ian says, and she pokes her head above the fridge door, her dark brows furrowed.
“Since when can you get it?” she asks, laughing softly. “Sit. Eat.” She glances at me, and I push off the wall to stand closer to her. She’s magnetic. “There are eggs on the stove. Help yourself.” Her voice is quiet, almost embarrassed, and I flick my brows up. But she doesn’t say anything else as she grabs the milk. “Chocolate or regular?” She doesn’t look at anyone as she opens a cabinet, pulling out a bottle of chocolate sauce.
“Mom,” Ian groans. Finally, I glance at him, finding his face bright red and Enzo snickering beside him.
He’s embarrassed she’s getting milk for him?
“I’ll have chocolate,” I say as I step around her, my hand gliding along her waist and lower back. She glares at me over her shoulder, but her lips twitch in a small smile. “Extra chocolatey, love.” I press a quick kiss to her temple, and she swats at me.
“Chocolate,” Ian mumbles. “I can do it—”
“You never make your own—is it because he’s here?” She jerks her thumb at me, and I pause, the eggs sliding haphazardly onto my plate. “Jesus, you’re going to make a mess. Get out of the way.”
“I got this,” I say, shooing her. “Just make our drinks.” When her brows lift again, I smile sweetly and add, “Please.” The boys laugh under their breath and I smile wider, feeling triumphant.
“Can I have orange juice?” Enzo asks, and it finally breaks her of whatever spell she was under.
“Of course,” she says mindlessly.
This morning feels natural. Normal. Like we’ve done this a million times before.
It’s a morning I always dreamed of having when I was a kid. I wish I could’ve woken up to my mother singing in the kitchen while she made Elaine and I breakfast before school. I wish I could’ve gotten embarrassed that she was still making chocolate milk for me when I was fifteen.
I wish I could’ve hadthis.
But I didn’t have it, and the next best thing is giving it to Ian. I want to wrap my arms around Kens, move my hips with hers as she sways to the music still playing. I want to kiss her neck and make her sigh as she makes our drinks. I wish I could rest my hands flat against her stomach and hold her to me, breathe her in.
She’s still weird about PDA in front of Ian, which I get, but fuck, it drives me insane not touching her. I drop a few more eggs onto my plate, frowning when I notice I’ve taken most of them. So I put them back into the pan, grab another plate and serve her the larger portion.
“The waffles,” I say mindlessly as I slide around her, my hand pressed against her back again.
“I can make them if you give me a second,” she mumbles as she stirs the milk.
“They’re in the freezer?” I continue, ignoring her. “How many for you? Two?” Her eyes snap to me, her lips parting.
“I—what? No, I’m fine.” She waves her hand dismissively. “I had coffee, I’m good.”
“Coffee is a drink, not food,” I say as I pull the freezer open. “Oh, we have choices. Goody. You want chocolate chip, blueberry, or regular?”
“Mom’s are the blueberry,” Ian calls, his mouth full of food. I grin wider when she rolls her eyes.
“You’re teaming up on me and I don’t like it,” she says, glaring at the three of us.
“Get used to it, Ms. K,” Enzo says, making Ian laugh. I smile to myself as they joke with each other, her eyes on mine, a hidden smile on her brutally beautiful face.
I step around her again, this time purposefully grinding my hips against her ass. She swats at me, and I barely dodge her as I open the box of waffles. She takes the boys their drinks, and they give their thanks as she turns back toward me. I lean on the counter, my arms folded over my chest as we stare at each other.
“Here you are, my love,” I say, holding her plate out. She stares at it, looking confused. Slowly, she lifts her eyes to mine, and I push it further toward her. “You made food. Eat.”
“There’s not enough left for you,” she says, glancing at my plate. “You’ll be hungry in ten minutes.”
“Kens, just eat the damn eggs,” I say. “I’m a grown man. If I get hungry in ten minutes, I’ll cook something else.”
