Chapter 30
LAINE
Ipush open Reid's front door. "Reid?"
"Kitchen!" he calls back.
My overnight bag hits the floor and I'm already moving toward that smell. Whatever he's making has my mouth watering before I even round the corner.
He's at the stove in jeans and that gray t-shirt, the one with the hole near the collar that he refuses to throw away.
I love that shirt on him. I slip my arms around his waist from behind and press my face between his shoulder blades.
He's warm and solid and smells like soap and cumin, maybe. Something earthy.
"Smells amazing," I say against his back.
"Hey." He turns in my arms and gives me a real kiss, the kind that makes me forget there's food involved at all. "Perfect timing."
I should let him get back to cooking. I know I should. But his hands are on my waist and we have the whole weekend with no interruptions. So I don't.
"Blake really left?"
"About two hours ago. Drove to Portland to catch his flight." Reid's grinning. "We've got the place to ourselves until Sunday night."
I can't wait. Blake's mostly been keeping his distance while I'm here, and there haven't been any more blow ups. But I'm tense. I'll admit it. So having him gone for the weekend feels fantastic.
I hate that, though. I hate that things got so strained between us. But maybe this weekend can be a reset. For all of us.
So I focus on my gorgeous boyfriend and shove the rest of it somewhere I don't have to look at it. I'm not letting it ruin this.
"And you're actually cooking? Like, real cooking?"
He nips at my neck and I laugh, swatting at him. "Don't sound so shocked." Then he turns back to the stove.
"I'm not shocked. I'm impressed. Four months ago you were living on frozen pizza and whatever Blake left in the fridge."
This is officially my longest relationship. I've been in this city longer than I've been anywhere, and so far, it's better than I ever imagined. He's better than I ever imagined a guy could be.
Reid waves his wooden spoon at me. "I've evolved."
"You've evolved," I repeat, grinning. "Look at you, using actual spices and everything."
"Don't get too excited. It's just chili."
"Just chili? Or Blake's chilli?"
Reid turns to face me, looking offended. "There are other chilli recipes out there in the world. I looked one up. I can follow directions you know."
"Do you think Blake would be horrified to think of you making some other recipe? Is he going to need to cleanse the space when he gets back?"
Reid chuckles, shaking his head. "You're joking, but you might not be far off. I'm already planning to text him pictures, just to fuck with him."
"So mean!"
The chuckle turns into a full cackle this time. I love seeing him like this. So carefree. So relaxed. And the thing is, I get this version of him a lot. Other than a few tense moments between us, things have been easy.
Too easy? No. I'm not going there. There's no such thing as too easy. Just because there was drama and pain in other relationships doesn't mean there has to be now.
Reid moves around the kitchen with easy confidence, checking the cornbread in the oven —from a mix I'm sure— and adjusting the heat under the chili. I like watching him cook. He’s different when he's focused on taking care of people - more relaxed maybe.
His 'making chili' look is a lot like his paramedic look. Both so hot.
"So," I say, hopping up on the counter, "what does one do with an entire weekend of freedom?"
"Well, I was thinking..." Reid opens the oven to check the cornbread, and the smell fills the kitchen. "We could tackle that overgrown section by the pool. Blake's been meaning to clear it out for months, but he's always too busy with client work."
Of all the things he could have suggested, that's the last thing I expected. "You want to spend your weekend doing yard work?"
"I want to spend my weekend making that space ours." He pauses, oven wide open, brow furrowed. "I mean... you know what I mean."
I do know what he means. And the fact that he said "ours" makes me go all gooey. He's thinking of me being here when we get to lounge around that pool.
"Besides," Reid continues, trying to recover, "you said you wanted to see what we could do with that area. This is our chance."
"True. But I was thinking more along the lines of hiring someone to do the heavy lifting." I totally wasn't. I just wasn't going to try and insert myself where I wasn't invited. That would be one thing guaranteed to put me on Blake's bad side, and I'm not going there.
Reid turns to face me fully, and there's mischief in his eyes. "Where's the fun in that?"
"The fun is in not putting my back out moving rocks around."
"I'll do the rock moving. You can do the creative stuff."
"What creative stuff?"
"I don't know. Design things. Make it look good. You're good at making things look good."
He says it the way he'd say the sky is blue. Just a fact. No big deal. My skin goes warm. "You think I'm good at making things look good?"
"I think you're good at everything." Reid moves closer, until he's standing right in front of me.
"But especially at making things feel like home.
You've only been in your apartment for a few months, but it already feels way more like home than this place does.
You bring a little magic to everything you touch, Baby. "
Oh.
That's the best compliment I've ever gotten. My eyes sting and I blink it away fast.
"The chili smells amazing," I say, because if I keep looking at him looking at me like that, I'm going to ugly cry.
"It should be ready in about ten minutes." Reid's hands settle on my knees, thumbs tracing small circles through my jeans. "Plenty of time for you to tell me about your day."
"My day was fine. Standard Saturday shift. Nothing too exciting." I lean forward, closing the gap between us by a few inches. "I kept thinking about this, though. Coming home to you."
"Home," Reid repeats, like he's turning the word over in his mouth to see how it fits.
"Yeah. Weird, right? I've never had that before. Someone to come home to. Not as a grown-up anyway."
His hands slide up to my thighs. "Not weird. Perfect."
The timer goes off for the cornbread and neither of us moves. We're just looking at each other, and I can see it in his face — the same thing I'm feeling, the same slow recognition landing at the same time.
This is it. This is what I didn't know I was missing.
"Cornbread," Reid says finally. He doesn't step away.
"Cornbread," I agree.
He pulls the pan out of the oven, golden and perfect, and I slide down from the counter to help. We move around each other like we've been doing this for years instead of months — reaching past, handing off, stepping aside — all of it easy and unthinking.
We settle at the table, and the chili is exactly right. Rich and spicy and the kind of warm that sinks all the way down after a long shift. But more than the food, it's this. Sitting here with Reid, talking about our days, making plans for tomorrow. So ordinary it almost hurts.
"So about this pool project," I say. "Are we talking serious manual labor, or can I supervise from a lawn chair with a drink?"
"There might be some supervising opportunities," Reid grins. "But I was hoping to put those nursing muscles to work."
"Nursing muscles?"
"You lift patients all day. You're stronger than you look."
He's not wrong. Yeah, the orderlies do the really heavy lifting when they can, but you can't plan for a wobbly patient, or a fainter. "Flattery will get you everywhere."
His grin is hot, naughty, and my tummy does a little jump. "I'm counting on it."
After dinner, we clean up together. "I love this," I say as Reid rinses the last bowl.
"What, doing dishes?"
"No, dummy. This. Us. Being here together like this is just... normal."
Reid turns to look at me, dish towel in his hands. "Normal's good?"
"Normal's perfect. I spent so many years thinking normal was boring. Turns out I was wrong."
Reid steps closer, until we're standing toe to toe in his kitchen. "What else were you wrong about?"
"Lots of things, probably. But mainly about whether I was built for this kind of life."
"What kind of life?"
"The kind where you stay in one place long enough to know which grocery store has the best produce. The kind where you have inside jokes with your boyfriend. The kind where you can picture yourself in five years and it doesn't scare you."
Reid's hands come up to frame my face. "Can you? Picture yourself here in five years?"
I look into his green eyes, see the hope and affection there, and realize that yes, I absolutely can. "Yeah. I can."
"Good," Reid says, leaning down to kiss me. "Because I'm planning on you being here."
Saturday morning. Reid's arm is heavy across my waist, his breath warm against my neck.
So cozy.
"You awake?" he mumbles.
"Barely."
"Good. Don't move." He pulls me closer. "What time is it?"
"No idea."
"Perfect."
We drift for a while. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my hip.
No alarm. No shift. No reason to be anywhere but here.
Lazy mornings like this are something I didn't appreciate until my thirties.
I was either passed out till noon, or up with the birds and working.
But this in-between, awake but drifting, is all kinds of wonderful.
"I have an idea," Reid says eventually.
"Dangerous words."
"Hear me out." He props himself up, hair sticking in six directions. "There's a dog park about fifteen minutes from here."
"Okay..."
"We should go."
I roll over to face him. "Reid. We don't have a dog."
"I'm aware."
"So why would we—"
"Dogs, Laine. Puppies. All the cute, none of the responsibility." He's already bouncing slightly, even lying down. "We just show up, enjoy the vibes, and leave."
"That feels illegal somehow."
"It's not illegal. Probably." That grin. The one that means trouble. "Come on. Tell me you don't want to pet strangers' dogs for an hour."