AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“But I should’ve been there. Beside you.” He puts the cup back on his side of the bed.
“Well, I like you beside me now,” I say, my voice a little flat. I do mean it. I don’t just like it, though, I love it. I love him next to me. I love his arm around me. I love the few touches he’s given me since yesterday. But I don’t know what they are, what this all means.
He lays back down on his side, a bit closer, with his arm draped back in its position. “Me too, now that you’ve showered.” I gasp at his teasing and he laughs. A small laugh. A real one. He closes his eyes and gives me another gentle squeeze. “Go back to sleep, Ellie.”
I do.
CHAPTER 29
Eleanna
The next two days are much the same. I sleep, I eat, Carmen helps. Dr. Phillips calls on me every day. I get up and wash my face, take a walk to the kitchen. But mostly, I rest. Mark is gone for work before I wake up and back with his arm locked over me in the night.
On the third morning, I’m surprised to wake up with that lock still in place. And not just his arm, I’m on my side with my bandaged arm on top, facing away from him. Or, I should be. But he’s moved to the other side of the bed? He must be half falling off, since the whole bed is empty in front of me. He is molded into my back. Flush. Hot. Everywhere. He breathes into my hair, holds my waist and his knees are spooned in behind mine.
The moment I stir his hold tightens. As he hugs me closer I feel him, pressing into my ass, hard as steel. I push back against him without even realizing it. He reciprocates before stopping himself, as if just waking up.
“No, none of that.” He groans into my ear.
“You started it,” I say, still sounding half asleep.
“False. You wear these slinky little pj’s to torture me. It’s working.” He gives me another embrace before pulling away. “Are you up for a trip to the kitchen?”
“Sure,” I start to move. But he reaches forward and stops me. Then he scoops me into his arms slowly, looking out for my injury. He straightens with me in a bridal hold as if he’s done this a million times. “I can walk.”
“And I can carry you.” He huffs, taking long strides toward the kitchen. I’m surprised when he keeps walking, taking us to his huge pantry. Inside the small space, he sets me gingerly on the small counter on one side. There’s a sink in here, a second fridge and freezer, small appliances, even a small window. And of course, it holds his coffee treasury.
“What are you doing?” I ask when he starts digging through a cupboard.
“Making you a good cup of coffee.”
I chuckle. “Your coffee here is already the best I’ve ever had.”
“That stuff in the kitchen is trash.” He shakes his head as he sets down a small contraption that looks like an updated French press. He also starts a kettle and begins shuffling the different bags of coffee beans. He chooses one and presents it to me like he’s displaying a bottle of wine. “When you’re well, I’ll make you a real espresso with the machine locked in my office.”
“You haveanothercoffee machine?”
“Listen,” He waves me off, trying not to smile. “Step one, the right beans. I just got these yesterday.” He pours the beans into one of his grinders. While the grinder noise fills the room, he smiles and, unbelievably, wags his eyebrows like a kid. “You want a medium grind, not too fine. The next key is the perfect water temperature. With triple-filtered water, of course.”
“Ofcourse,” I smile, watching him make coffee like a boy playing with his favorite toy. He glares at me, but the hint of smirk is still there.
“This is an aero press. You put in the filter,” he says, almost talking to himself now, going through his steps. He pours in the beans and hot water and then takes out a stick wand thing. “You have to stir. Very important.”
“Uh huh,” I am having trouble not giggling. He ignores me, leaving to grab mugs from the kitchen. He comes back with two small red mugs from the new set I bought weeks ago. He continues talking through the stirring and the pressing.
Finally, he hands me my cup. “With sugar, because that’s how you like it, even though it pains me.”
“Only psychos drink straight black coffee.” I shrug as I accept the hot cup.
He rolls his eyes. “Try it.” He cages me in with his arms and watches my reaction. But I pause, realizing as I stare at his handsome face.
“You don’t have your contacts in.” He shakes his head at me but I go on. “Don’t you need glasses then?”
“I can see fine, now taste it.” I am still confused, and wanting him to explain, but it’s pretty clear he doesn’t want to discuss it. For someone who wears contacts all day, I’ve only ever seen him take them out, and never seen him in glasses.
I try to focus on the coffee instead of Mark’s many mysteries. I don’t have to fake the smile. It is the best coffee I’ve ever had.
