Chapter 38 Past
The storm had finally let up, leaving the morning draped in a soft shade of gray. Fog clung to the corners of every window, and the sun barely made an effort to peek through.
My feet reached out for his—but they weren’t there.
I sat up, a flicker of panic rushing through me when I didn’t see him lying beside me. I knew we were alone, but I didn’t want to risk calling his name. Instead, I grabbed the tangled mess of sheets and wrapped them around myself.
As my feet hit the floor, a dull, beautiful ache spread through every muscle in my body—echoes of the night before.
Favorite moments flickered through my mind, leaving my cheeks warm.
The door was open, so I peeked my head out, checking the hallway for any sign of him.
I didn’t see him—but the clink of pans gave him away.
Rounding the corner, the kitchen light hit me square in the face. I raised a hand to shield my eyes until they adjusted.
Paul stood at the stove, shirtless and barefoot, the soft morning light catching the curve of his shoulders and the mess of his hair. His familiar plaid pajama pants hung low on his hips.
I paused for a second, just watching him—like I was trying to memorize the morning exactly as it was.
But the moment broke with a sharp hiss from the pan and a quiet curse under his breath.
Instant regret over not wearing a shirt while cooking flashed across his face as he winced and rubbed at his stomach—apparently a splash of grease had found its mark.
A tinge of jealousy crept in at the thought that the grease had touched his bare skin before I had this morning. I had to rectify that.
I walked over quietly and slid my free hand slowly around his waist, burying my face into the warmth of his back.
He didn’t say anything—just sighed like he’d been waiting for me.
His hand found mine, catching it gently. He lifted it to his lips and pressed a soft kiss against my fingers.
“Morning,” I said, my voice low.
“Morning, honeysuckle,” his voice soft and raspy. “How’d you sleep?”
I let out a happy sigh of relief before answering.
“Pretty well… eventually. Someone kept me up for a while.”
He chuckled, the sound deep and unbothered.
“Yeah? Hope it was worth it.”
I smiled against his back.
“Oh, it was.”
He set down the spatula and turned to face me.
He licked his lips before leaning in to kiss mine—and I was grateful he did.
Mine were tender and dry after a long night of discovering just what they were capable of.
Assuming his lips felt like mine, he didn’t kiss me for long.
Instead, he pulled back and nodded toward the table.
“Go sit. Breakfast is almost ready.”
I kissed him lightly in return.
“I’m going to change real quick. I’d rather not let grease find its way to my stomach the way it did yours.”
He shot me a look as I walked out of the kitchen—but not before a slow smile spread across his face.
I threw on one of his shirts and a pair of sweatpants I found tucked in the back of his drawer.
When I walked out, he’d laid out a full spread—scrambled eggs, toast, fresh fruit, orange juice. Like it was something he did every morning.
I sat on the counter while he leaned beside me, laughing and carrying on like we’d always done this.
After breakfast, I washed the dishes while he dried and put them away.
Every now and then, he’d get distracted by the curve of my neck, pressing a kiss there before moving on.
And he didn’t miss a single chance to pat my butt, especially when putting the frying pan back in place.
Once everything was cleaned up and back in order, we headed to his room.
We had every intention of making the bed and tidying up… but a playful pillow fight turned into a wrestling match under the covers.
We were still new at this, but I was pretty sure we were getting the hang of it.
Honestly? I might even be able to one-up Molly with a thing or two I’d discovered.
We were halfway dressed again when a sudden knock on the door froze us in place.
Our eyes locked.
Without saying a word, he motioned to the closet.
I didn’t hesitate—slipped inside and closed the door as quietly as I could.
Trying to sound calm, Paul called out, “Yeah… just a minute!”
He pulled on a shirt and gave the comforter one quick toss to cover the chaos underneath.
“Just a sec,” he said again, smoothing his hair as he moved toward the door.
He only locked the handle this time—no chain.
With one last sweep of the room, he unlocked the door and pulled it open.