Chapter Sixty-Two Joshua
Chapter Sixty-Two
Joshua
The bathroom was fogged up, steam rolling off the tiles, the sound of the shower mixing with the soft splashes from the sink.
Aurora was leaning over it, her wet hair dripping down her back, hoodie long gone.
She was just in her soaked sweats and a bra, skin flushed from the heat and rain.
And she was just humming softly as she held the tiny black kitten under the running water, rinsing the dirt and rain off its fur with the gentlest touch.
Her hands were shaking a little from the cold, but she didn’t care. She just smiled, whispering to it,
“It’s okay, baby. Almost done.”
I stood behind her, shirtless, still in my wet sweats, a towel hanging around my neck. Watching her like I always did when she got too damn precious for words.
“Alright,” she whispered, holding the kitten up. Its fur was sticking up in wet clumps, little paws kicking in the air. “All clean.”
She turned to me with that soft grin that could make my knees weak. “Joshua, meet Brownie.”
I blinked. “…Brownie?”
She nodded proudly, the kitten meowing as if it agreed.
I tilted my head, frowning in disbelief. “Princess, it’s black.”
She giggled. “I know, but,” she paused, cheeks reddening as she looked up at me, “it reminded me of Sunday.”
“Sunday?” I raised an eyebrow, still lost.
“Yeah,” she mumbled, looking away quickly, “the day we tried to bake brownies, and you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.”
Oh.
That Sunday.
The memory hit instantly, her sitting on the counter, the smell of chocolate in the air, her laughing into my mouth as the timer went off. And then the alarm. The smoke. Me, shirtless, waving a towel like an idiot while she laughed so hard she almost cried.
I couldn’t help it. I started laughing now, too.
“You’re telling me,” I said, still grinning, “You named it after my fuck-up?”
She nodded, pretending to hide behind the kitten. “Mm-hmm. It’s your fault he exists.”
I groaned, stepping closer until I was right behind her, my reflection meeting hers in the mirror. She just smiled, holding Brownie up. “Say hi to Daddy, Brownie.”
The kitten sneezed.
I huffed out a laugh and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her shoulder, her skin warm and damp under my lips. “You’re lucky I love you,” I whispered against her, watching her blush in the mirror.
“Yeah?” she murmured, smiling shyly.
“Yeah,” I said, wrapping my arms around her waist, resting my chin on her shoulder. “Even if you name the next one Burnt Toast, I’m still keeping it.”
She laughed quietly, holding the tiny kitten against her chest, and I swore the sound was softer than any storm, any silence, any night I’d ever known.
Me, her, Honey, and now Brownie.
Aurora set the tiny black fluffball beside Honey on the bed, both kittens curling into each other instantly. One golden, one pitch-dark.
I leaned against the doorframe, towel hanging off my shoulders, just watching her. The way she softly brushed her thumb between Brownie’s ears, the way she smiled when Honey tucked closer, like she’d already made space in her heart for both of them.
“Alright,” I said quietly, walking closer, “they’re clean.” She looked up at me, eyes still soft. “Now it’s our turn.”
She blinked, straightening up a little. “Our turn?”
“Mm-hmm.” I grinned faintly, tugging lightly at the drawstring of my sweatpants. “You’re drenched, I’m drenched. Seems fair.”
Her arms flew up to cross over her chest, that defensive little pout fighting its way onto her face. “You can go first.”
I raised a brow, pretending to think about it, then stepped close enough that her crossed arms brushed my chest. “We already washed Brownie,” I murmured, fingers sliding around her waist. “Gotta save water.”
Her lips twitched, trying not to smile. “The water’s been running for like… twenty minutes, Joshua.”
I looked toward the still-running shower, steam fogging the mirror, and chuckled under my breath. “Guess we’re not very eco-friendly then.”
Aurora giggled, the sound quiet and breathy, and I swear that alone made the whole world feel warmer.
I brushed a strand of damp hair away from her face, my thumb grazing her jaw. “C’mon, Princess,” I said, nodding toward the bathroom. “Let’s actually get clean before those two little monsters claim the bed for the night.”
She laughed again, light, airy and finally took my hand, fingers fitting between mine.
The sound of the shower filled the silence between us as we stepped inside together, steam curling around her hair and the faint smell of rain still clinging to our skin.
Aurora stood in front of me, head tilted slightly as she drew little doodles in the steam with her finger. Hearts, smiley faces, random squiggles that looked more like clouds than anything else.
Her hair was full of bubbles, my fingers buried in it as I worked the shampoo through gently.
“Feels nice?” I murmured.
She hummed, nodding lazily. “Mm-hmm.”
Her voice was soft, almost sleepy from the warmth. She tilted her head back a little more, looking up at me with those brown eyes, droplets of water sticking to her lashes.
“Joshua?” she said suddenly, soft, almost drowned out by the water.
“Yeah, Princess?”
“Do you swim?”
I blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Sometimes,” I said slowly. “I’ve got an indoor pool, but I don’t really use it much.”
She nodded, looking back down at the glass in front of her, “Aly said swimmers have nice bodies.”
I paused.
She said it so innocently, as if she were reciting a fun fact. But the tips of her ears were red.
A laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it, low and rough in my throat. “Did she now?”
Aurora nodded, looking straight ahead as if it were the most serious topic in the world. “Mm-hmm. She said that’s why she likes watching the Olympics.”
I grinned, the corners of my mouth twitching. “You asking if I’m a swimmer or just wanted to tell me that I had a nice body?”
Her shoulders tensed, and she stammered, “I just—Aly said—”
I laughed again, wrapping my arms around her waist, pulling her back against me. “Relax, baby. No need to be shy, I’ll take it as a compliment.”
She huffed, still flustered, staring at the water running over her hands. “Then what do you do if you don’t swim?”
“I’ve got a gym at home,” I said. “Weights, treadmill, the usual. I don’t swim much, but I work out a lot.”
She nodded slowly, still pretending she wasn’t blushing. “Makes sense.”
“Yeah?” I teased softly. “Why’s that?”
She hesitated, then mumbled, “Because you look like you do.”
I couldn’t help but smile, not cocky, just soft. Because she always said things like that without realising how much they hit.
“You really are something else, you know that?”
She giggled under her breath, tilting her head slightly toward me. “You say that a lot.”
“That’s because it’s true,” I whispered.
I rested my chin on her shoulder, my arms sliding around her waist, fingers brushing the curve of it, small, delicate, as if she was made to fit against me this way.
“You asked if I swim,” I murmured against her ear. “Do you?”
She froze for half a second, then shook her head quickly. “No,” she said shyly. “I don’t really… exercise.”
I couldn’t help but huff out a laugh, my breath skimming the side of her neck. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Her head turned slightly, just enough for me to see her pink cheeks through the fog. “What do you mean?”
I smiled, tracing light circles on her waist with my thumb. “You’ve got a nice body for someone who doesn’t exercise.”
The way she blushed, it went all the way to the tips of her ears. She tried to hide it by turning away, muttering, “I walk a lot.”
“Yeah?” I asked, voice low, teasing but gentle.
“Mm-hmm,” she mumbled, playing with the water, letting it run over her fingers. “I walk everywhere. Bus stops, class, shops… sometimes just around when I can’t sleep.”
I smiled against her shoulder, pressing a small kiss there. “That’s probably it, then. All that walking.”
She giggled, the sound soft and sweet, and leaned her head lightly against mine. “So technically, I do exercise.”
“Technically,” I agreed, tightening my arms around her just a little.
I don’t know what came over me, maybe the way she looked up at me, maybe the way her hands hesitated midair like she didn’t know what to do with them, but I spun her around.
Her gasp barely made it out before I caught her lips.
The water hit our skin in soft rhythms, her hands sliding up my chest before settling against my neck. She kissed back, unsure at first, then steady, then… completely hers. The kind of kiss that made everything else disappear, even the sound of the shower.
When we finally pulled apart, she was still holding onto me, breathing fast, eyes wide and glassy.
Her lips brushed mine again as she whispered, “We’re wasting water.”
I laughed quietly, leaning my forehead against hers. “If I turn it off,” I murmured, “do I get another kiss?”
Her cheeks flamed red instantly. “You already did,” she mumbled. “A long one, too.”
“Wasn’t that long,” I teased, voice low, brushing my thumb over her jaw.
She huffed a laugh, breath still shaky. “It made me breathless,” she whispered, “so it was long.”
I stared at her for a second, completely defeated, my heart doing that stupid thing it does whenever she says something that feels like it came from the softest place inside her.
“Fine,” I said, pretending to grumble.
I reached over and turned the water off. The sound of dripping filled the air instead. Before I could move, she leaned in and pressed one small, sweet kiss to my lips, soft, short, nothing like the first.
Then she smiled, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around her body before stepping out. I just stood there for a second, water dripping from my hair, watching her walk away, her laughter echoing faintly through the steam, and I couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my mouth.
Hopeless. I was absolutely hopeless for her.