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“I’m glad. Would you like some coffee? Breakfast is almost done.”
I haven’t had coffee in forever. It’s a luxury I don’t splurge on. I’d probably be a coffee addict if I could afford to be. I love the stuff, especially with chocolate caramel creamer. Maude got me hooked on it in high school. It’s delicious and makes every sip taste like a decadent treat. A pang of sadness hits me at the memory. I miss Maude and our morning chats over coffee. I push it away, not wanting to ruin the moment. Maude is gone, and being sad won’t bring her back, but it will put a damper on what could be a great morning with Jude. I don’t want that at all.
“I would love a cup of coffee.”
Jude pours me a cup. I bring it close and take a deep breath of the fragrant liquid. It’s obviously an expensive blend and smells freshly ground. I have no doubt it will rival the best coffee shop in the city for quality.
“There is creamer in the fridge and sugar on the counter.”
I give him a shy smile. “Thanks.”
I open the fridge, and I’m pleasantly surprised to find vanilla-flavored creamer. It’s not my favorite, but it's still better than a combination of regular creamer and sugar. I stir in a healthy amount of creamer before taking my first sip. My eyes close, and I hum low in my throat in pleasure.
So good.
When I open my eyes, Jude is looking at me like he wants to devour me. I can hardly believe it. I know I shouldn’t, but I want to test my theory. I take another sip, making the same sound again, but this time, I don’t take my eyes off him while I do it. If anything, he looks even hungrier than before. I nervously lick my lips, and his attention turns to my mouth. I want to cross the distance between us and crash my lips to his so I can see if he wants to kiss me as badly as I want to be kissed by him.
The spell is broken by the scent of burning bacon. With a curse, he turns back to the stove and pulls the pan off the heat, rescuing the bacon.
“Take a seat, babygirl.”
It’s not lost on me that he’s been calling me babygirl since last night at my apartment. He’d said it a few times before that, but it feels different now for some reason. More poignant somehow. If I were braver, I would ask him if he’s a Daddy dom or if he just likes that pet name. I’d die of embarrassment if he says he’s not a Daddy. I won’t risk it. People who aren’t into that kind of thing can be judgmental and sometimes even disgusted by it. I won’t risk it because that fantasy isn’t worth losing whatever is going on between Jude and me.
I watch him move around the kitchen as he finishes making our breakfast. I never in a million years imagined I’d be here. I’m in a beautiful house that’s warm and inviting… a true home, unlike my apartment. There’s a devastatingly handsome man who’s done nothing but take care of me since the moment we met, making me breakfast. I should be in the fetal position, hiding under my shredded blankets and trying to figure out what in the world I’m going to do. Instead, I’m here with Jude and not feeling nearly as overwhelmed and stressed as I should. There will be time for that later. I’m living in the moment right now. I refuse to sabotage it.
Jude places a plate filled with crispy bacon, a fluffy omelet, and toast in front of me. It looks and smells so good my mouth waters. I haven’t eaten a real meal like this in so long. I want to scarf it down like a starving animal, but refrain. I’m going to savor this meal just as much as I’m savoring my time with Jude.
He takes a seat next to me with his own plate. He’s so close his thigh is pressed against mine. I’m tempted to scoot my stool closer to soak up more of him. I distract myself by taking a bite of bacon. I moan at the salty, sweet flavor. Best thing I’ve ever tasted. I don’t know how I’ll go back to peanut butter and saltines for breakfast after being spoiled with bacon and eggs. It’s going to suck. It’s easy to do without when you don’t have fresh memories of things that taste so delicious. I take a bite of the cheesy omelet, and it’s melt-in-your-mouth good.
“This is so good, thank you.”
“You’re welcome, babygirl. I’m glad you like it.”
“Who wouldn’t? The only thing better than bacon and eggs for breakfast is bacon and eggs for dinner. I love eating breakfast for dinner.”
He chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind. Next time, I’ll make my famous French toast.”
“Famous, huh?” I bump his arm with my shoulder as I tease him.
“Totally famous. People come from miles away for a taste,” he says with a smile.
I giggle. “Well then, I can’t wait to try it and see what all the fuss is about.”
I’ve barely eaten half of the food on my plate when I hit the point of being uncomfortably full. I hate wasting so much good food, but I will burst if I eat another bite. I set my fork down so I’m not tempted to keep eating even though I feel horrible wasting the food. As if he read my mind, Jude slides my plate on top of his and finishes the rest.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
I both love and hate that he seems to read me so easily. No one has ever made an effort before, and he makes it seem completely effortless. He sees a need or a problem and takes care of it. It would be so easy to let him take care of everything. I’ve been on my own for so long that the idea of having someone take the pressure off my shoulders is tempting.
He takes our plates to the sink and starts cleaning up. I hop off the stool and rush to his side to help.
“You don’t have to help.”
“You cooked. It’s the least I can do. In fact, if you want to take a shower or something, I can finish cleaning up,” I say with a smile. I want to do even this little thing to show my appreciation.
“You’re my guest,” he argues.
I take the plate from his hand and gently push him out of the way. “And your guest is saying go do what you need to do while I clean up.”
