February 15th
Molly
I wake up to sunlight streaming through my bedroom window and an empty bed.
For a moment, I just lie there, blinking at the ceiling, my body deliciously sore in all the right places. My string lights are still on from last night, casting a soft glow even in the morning light. The scent of Luke lingers on my sheets…
Luke.
I sit up too quickly, clutching my floral comforter to my chest, and scan the room.
He’s gone.
His clothes are missing from where they were scattered across the floor. His boots are no longer propped by the door. There’s no sound of movement from my bathroom or kitchen.
My stomach drops.
No. No, no, no.
This can’t be happening. He wouldn’t. He said he wasn’t going anywhere. He said… He held me while I fell asleep and whispered things that made me believe him.
The tears come hot and fast, and I press my hands to my face, trying to hold them back, but it’s no use. They spill over, and suddenly I’m sobbing into my palms like a complete mess.
Of course he left. Last night didn’t mean as much to him as it did to me. Why would it? He’s spent two years avoiding exactly this kind of connection. He said so himself. And here I threw myself at him after one good day and a heroic punch.
God, the punch. He punched Nathan for me. He swept me off my feet and out of that party like something out of a romance novel. He made love to me like—
A sound from the hallway has me sucking in a breath, frozen in place.
Keys jingling. The front door opening.
My bedroom door is slightly ajar and I can hear footsteps approaching alongside the close of the front door. Heavy boots on my hardwood floor.
He came back?
I scramble to wipe my face and comb my fingers through my messy bed hair when the bedroom door swings open.
Luke stands in the doorway, holding a drink carrier with two coffee cups and a paper bag that smells like carb heaven.
He’s wearing the same clothes from last night, his hair is a mess, and he’s got his usual rough, handsome, furrowed expression on his face as if he takes everything far too seriously.
Then he sees my face.
“Molly?” He sets everything down on my dresser and crosses to the bed in three long strides. “What’s wrong?”
“I thought you left,” I choke out, and a fresh wave of tears hits.
His expression shifts from concern to understanding, and then something that looks a lot like pain.
“Hey, no. I didn’t leave.” He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls me into his lap, wrapping his arms around me.
I bury my face in his neck, breathing him in and feeling stupid and relieved and overwhelmed all at once.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into my hair. “I should have left a note. I just wanted to surprise you. I thought I’d be back before you woke up.”
I nod against his shoulder.
“Darlin’, look at me.”
I pull back reluctantly, and he cups my face, his thumbs swiping away my tears.
“I went to get us breakfast,” he says firmly. “That’s it. I wasn’t leaving. I’m not leaving.” He leans his forehead against mine. “I should have woken you up, but you looked so peaceful, and I thought that bringing you breakfast in bed would be romantic or some shit.”
A laugh bubbles up through my tears. “It is romantic.”
“Yeah?” His mouth quirks up. “Even though I made you cry?”
“I’m a mess,” I admit. “Last night was…” I take a shaky breath. “I’ve never felt like that before. With anyone. And waking up alone, I just assumed you…didn’t feel the same.”
Luke’s voice is low and deadly serious when he says, “I know you have no reason to believe me, but when I say I’m not going anywhere, I fucking mean it, baby.”
I search his face, seeing nothing but sincerity. “I believe you.”
And I do. Or at least, I want to. Which is close enough for now.
He kisses me softly. “Good. Now, can I interest you in some breakfast or coffee?”
I smile. He really brought me breakfast in bed. No one’s ever done that for me before. And having it come from Luke, the supposed anti-romantic who hates Valentine’s Day, makes it all the more romantic in itself.
I kiss him again, pouring everything I’m feeling into it.
Relief, gratitude, desire. My fingers thread through his post-sex hair, tugging gently, and he groans into my mouth.
His rough hands slide up my back, one settling between my shoulder blades, the other cupping the back of my neck as he deepens the kiss.
His tongue sweeps against mine, slow and thorough, like he has all the time in the world and he’s going to use it learning every way to make me melt.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing harder, foreheads pressed together.
“Coffee first,” he says, though his hands are sliding around to cup my bare ass. “Before it gets cold.”
“It’s probably already cold.”
“Then we definitely need to drink it now.” But he’s not moving, and neither am I.
It takes me a moment to regroup and pull away, climbing off his lap and grabbing my robe from the back of the door. Luke’s heavy, heated gaze trailing my every move. “Okay. Coffee, then breakfast, then—”
“Then I’m taking you back to bed,” he finishes, standing and stalking toward me. His eyes dark with promise.
Heat floods through me. “Deal.”
We relocate to my small kitchen, and I watch as Luke unpacks the bag. Two enormous cinnamon rolls, a chocolate croissant, a bear claw, and breakfast sandwiches.
“I got a bit of everything they had that was to-go.” He hands me one of the coffees, suddenly appearing a bit sheepish. “I realized on my way there I didn’t know your, uh, favorites yet.”
Yet? I simply stare at this hunk of a man who is even sweeter than I could have ever imagined. He’s dang near perfect.
“What?” he asks, sounding a tad self-conscious.
I set the coffee down and slide my arms around his waist, peering up at him with a soft smile. “Thank you for coming back. For breakfast, last night… For everything.”
His arms come around me, solid and warm. I melt into him. “You don’t have to thank me for any of that.”
We sit at the breakfast bar, chatting as the sun comes up.
It’s comfortable in a way that shouldn’t be possible after only one night together.
Luke tells me about his day yesterday repairing the back-up generator for the oceanside resort—the largest tourist attraction on the peninsula.
I tell him about my day at the bakery and Danny’s party before he arrived.
“He’s going to be insufferable today, you know,” I say, biting into the bear claw. It’s perfect, flaky and sweet and still a tad warm. “About us.”
“Let him.” Luke steals a piece of my pastry, and I swat his hand. “He earned it. Pretty sure he sabotaged that elevator.”
“Oh, definitely. Sophie and I figured that out last night.”
He takes a sip of his black coffee. “Dangerous, but smart.”
“Are you mad about it?”
He considers this. “If Danny hadn’t trapped us in that elevator, I probably would have kept avoiding you. So no, I’m not mad.” His eyes meet mine. “Even if his methods are…questionable.”
I smile, warmth spreading through my chest. “So, what happens now?”
“What do you mean?”
I gesture between us. “This. Us. You live across the hall. We’re going to see each other constantly. Do we tell people? Do we take it slow? Do we—”
“Molly.” He sets down his coffee and pulls my barstool close to his, his hands on my hips.
“I don’t know what the rules are supposed to be here.
It’s been two years since I’ve done this, and even then, I wasn’t great at it.
” He pauses, his jaw working like he’s trying to find the right words.
“But I know I don’t want to hide this. I don’t want to take it slow.
And I sure as hell don’t want to pretend last night didn’t change everything. ”
My breath catches.
“You’re mine.” The words come out fierce, possessive, and send shivers down my spine. “If you want to be.”
I cup his face, feeling the rough stubble under my palms. “Of course I want you.”
“Good.” He leans down, his lips brushing mine. “Because you’re stuck with me now, Cupcake.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Cupcake?”
He chuckles. “Too much?”
“A little.” But I’m smiling. “Though I guess it’s better than amateur cupid.”
He groans. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
“Not a chance.” I kiss him again, tasting coffee and cinnamon. “Now, didn’t you say something about taking me back to bed?”
His gaze darkens. He doesn’t need to be told twice. In one smooth motion, he lifts me onto the counter, stepping between my legs. “Right here works, too.”
I laugh, but it turns into a gasp when his mouth finds my neck. “The kitchen counter? Really?”
His hands slide up my thighs, pushing the robe higher. “Mhm.”
“Lu—” My protest dies as his fingers find exactly where I need them.
“What was that?” he murmurs against my skin.
“Nothing,” I breathe.
His laugh is low and rough, and I lose myself in it, in him, in this perfect morning.
I press a kiss to his jaw and whisper, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Luke.”
He smiles. Really smiles. The kind that reaches his eyes and transforms his whole face. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”