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Just hearing myself say it to her is enough.
* * *
The next morning,I watch Caroline sleep for several minutes.
She sleeps like a cherub, her knees tucked up and her arms hugging a pillow. Her cheeks are flushed, and her face is peaceful. I can’t help but feel a sense of pride at knowing I made her sleep so hard.
I rise early to toss our discarded clothes into the washing machine, sit at the breakfast bar, and open my laptop to check my email. Several messages have come from my accountant, financial advisor, business partner, and real estate agent.
It’s a lot to expect people to get the wheels turning on a Saturday morning, but my partner and I didn’t get this far by doing nothing on weekends.
This is good. Things are falling into place.
In the time it takes for our clothes to wash and dry, I have a closing date for the property and the Snug.
Satisfied, I close my laptop and get started on breakfast. I cook blackberry pancakes and bacon and brew an entire pot of coffee because I know what Caroline is like.
The moment the aroma of the coffee hits, I hear the stairs creak. I look up from the island where I’m flipping a pancake and see my girl padding toward me in my baggy old Detroit Lions sweatshirt. The hem cuts her across her bare mid-thighs—far too sexy for a morning of blackberry pancakes at Bonnie and Bill’s house. But I’m here for it.
I pour a cup and hand it to her, and she immediately lifts it to her nose. She inhales and lets out a sleepy sigh. “Thank you,” she croaks.
I can’t help but laugh at how cute she is in the morning, with her messy hair and slightly puffy eyes.
“Pancake?” I hold out a plate with one diner-sized fluffy concoction.
Now she’s awake. “Buttermilk?”
“You know it.”
Moments later, she’s got her pancake slathered in local maple syrup. “These are so good I don’t need butter,” she says.
I nod toward the platter with the paper towel, topped with a heap of bacon. “Have some protein.”
She smiles and nibbles on a slice. “I did get a workout last night. Need protein and hydration for sure.”
“Sure you do, especially after the way you attacked me.”
“You didn’t complain,” she says, laughing.
“Back spasm is a small price to pay for love,” I reply with a wink, sipping my coffee and plopping another pancake onto the stack.
Her eyes follow my movements, and she scoffs. “How many people are you feeding?”
I shrug, pull a plate out of the cabinet, and switch off the burner. “I can’t just make two pancakes, you know? You gotta make a whole batch; it’s a universal rule.”
“Is it?” She cocks her head playfully. “Is that a rule?”
I come around the island and close in on her, her sweet scent mixing with the coffee and maple syrup. “The way you demolish coffee and ice cream, I had to be prepared.”
She accepts my kiss when I’m so close it can’t be denied. “You’re still salty about that, huh?”
“Depends. Does it turn you on when I’m salty?”
Snorting, Caroline scoots away from me and begins clearing the dishes.
“Don’t let your ego get carried away,” she says.
I like this. I like us. And I like watching Caroline walk around in nothing but my sweatshirt that she didn’t ask permission to wear.
