Chapter Twenty
Vanessa
Too Good To Be True
Kacey Musgraves
I wake a little bit at a time. Not all at once, but in pieces, my legs tangled in warm sheets.
Cold air drifting from somewhere beyond the bedroom, the distant hum of the city below.
But the best part is the lingering scent of Hayden everywhere around me.
It’s whiskey and soap and clean cotton, plus something darker underneath that belongs only to him.
My eyes stay closed for another second while I stretch lazily beneath the blankets, one leg twisting deeper in the sheets as memory rushes back in fragments. The game room. His mouth against my throat. The way he looked at me when he admitted he was happy. God.
Heat curls low in my stomach all over again.
I roll onto my side reaching an arm out for him and stop.
The bed beside me is empty. A strange little ache catches me off guard before I can stop it.
Not panic exactly. Just an awareness that I’m not familiar with.
It takes me a second, but then I listen and smile at what I hear.
Soft music. The faint clink of dishes. The quiet rustle of what I think are newspaper pages being turned. My mouth curves before I can stop it. Of course Hayden still reads an actual newspaper.
I push myself upright, blinking against the soft late-morning light filtering through the windows.
My clothes from last night are scattered somewhere between the hallway and his living room so I have no idea what to wear.
After a brief glance around the bedroom, I spot one of his white button-ups draped over a chair near the windows. I pad over to it and I slide it on.
The fabric hangs loose around my body, sleeves swallowing my hands while the hem brushes to the top of my thighs. I lower my nose to the collar and inhale. It smells like him. Which feels far more dangerous than it should.
The apartment is quieter this morning than it was yesterday somehow. It’s much softer and feels less like a carefully controlled space and more like somewhere lived in. Like maybe I changed the atmosphere just by sleeping here.
I find Hayden in the kitchen exactly the way I imagined him. Reading glasses perched on his nose. Dark lounge pants hanging low on his hips. A crisp white t-shirt stretched across broad shoulders.
One arm propped against the marble counter while he scans the financial section like a man twice his age. Coffee steams beside him. Two silver serving covers over large plates sit on the island.
And honestly, the sight of Hayden Sloane standing barefoot in his kitchen reading the newspaper might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life.
His eyes lift before I can say anything, and immediately soften.
There’s still something surreal about that; about being the reason Hayden softens.
“Well.” His gaze drags over me, lingering on the bare skin of my legs below his shirt. “That’s distracting.”
I lean against the doorway. “You wear glasses.”
“They help me see.”
“They’re helping me reconsider my plans for this morning.” I chew on my bottom lip to try and contain a smile as a low laugh slips from him. He folds the paper neatly and sets it aside. Good lord. Nicole was right. I’m in so much trouble.
Hayden pushes away from the counter and crosses toward me, one hand sliding around my waist the second he reaches me. His touch is warm and steady, claiming but in the most perfect way. “You slept in.”
“I was exhausted for some reason.”
“You did exert a fair amount of energy last night.”
“I believe I was simply following your lead.” The corner of my mouth lifts.
“I’ll take the blame if it makes it easier for you.”
A small smirk forms on his beautiful mouth and I laugh against his lips when he kisses me, slow and warm and entirely too familiar already. And somehow that still doesn’t scare me as much as it probably should. Not anymore.
His hand settles against the small of my back while he studies my face for another quiet second. “You hungry?”
“Starving.” My stomach grumbles as if on cue.
“I ordered breakfast.”
“Of course you did.” I grin as I shake my head.
He guides me toward the island with a hand at my back, but there’s something noticeably different about it this morning.
The gesture is still protective. Still very much Hayden, but lighter somehow.
Like he’s paying attention to how he touches me now.
Like he’s trying. The realization lands quiet inside my chest, and matters far more than I think he realizes.
Hayden lifts the silver covers one at a time. Scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, fresh fruit, French toast, and perfectly crisp bacon. I stare at the spread. “Are you feeding me or preparing me for hibernation?”
“You said you were starving.”
“This could feed a small village.” I chuff out a small laugh.
“You’re awfully dramatic before caffeine.” He smiles as he moves to pour me a coffee.
“You’re reading a physical newspaper in 2025.”
“That’s because I don’t trust anything you read on the internet.”
I slide onto one of the stools beside him while he places a mug in front of me without asking how I take it. Because he already knows. And why does that make my heart pitter patter like a sixteen-year-old that just got asked to prom by the captain of the football team?
“I like having you here in my home. It feels nice.”
His confession surprises me, and I glance up from my coffee to find Hayden watching me. Not quite like he’s bracing for impact, but definitely curious about what I may be thinking.
“I think I’m a little surprised by how normal this feels.” I admit as I take a sip from my mug.
Something unreadable flickers across his face before he looks down at his plate again. “You expected it to feel colder?”
“A little.” I don’t want to lie to him, because before, his control was also limited to his emotions. This time, they absolutely are not.
“And?”
I let my gaze drift around the apartment as I absorb the space around me.
Morning light spills across the dark hardwood floors.
Music plays low from hidden speakers. The lake is visible through towering windows beyond the living room.
And Hayden, sits across from me looking calmer than I’ve seen him in years.
“It doesn’t. You’ve changed.” I admit. A smile lifts the corners of his mouth with it. The silence that follows feels strangely intimate. It’s not heavy, it just feels honest.
Hayden reaches for his coffee before speaking again. “You’re staring this time.”
“You’re still wearing those glasses.”
“Something you’ve already noted once.”
“It’s incredibly hot.” I share, taking a bit of bacon, smiling around it. He laughs again, quieter this time, but it’s so real. God. I like this version of him so much it almost hurts.
We linger over breakfast longer than necessary, conversation drifting between us in an easy way that still catches me off guard sometimes. The museum. Mikey setting something on fire in the studio microwave last week. His absolute refusal to acknowledge deep-dish pizza is a legitimate cuisine.
And underneath all of it, complete ease. No fighting for space. No sharp edges. No suffocating pressure sitting between us. It’s just Hayden, being who he is now.
By the time the plates are empty and the coffee has gone lukewarm, I’m curled sideways in the stool watching him read something on his phone when a thought slips free. “There’s a Halloween party at Gild tonight.”
His eyes lift to mine, and there it is; that subtle shift that isn’t quite anger or jealousy, but a very keen awareness of what’s different about me now, versus then.
“I know.”
“Oliver’s been planning it for weeks.”
“And that should mean what to me?” A frown marring his otherwise gorgeous face.
“Just that it will probably be something to remember.”
He shifts next to me before he sets his phone down. “You want to go.” Not a question but a realization.
I trace my fingertip around the rim of my mug. “I do.”
Hayden leans back in his chair, studying me carefully enough that I can practically see the thoughts moving behind his eyes. He doesn’t want to go. And I know it’s not because he doesn’t trust me, but because things are different now.
For him, Gild existed in a separate compartment from whatever this was becoming between us. Now the lines were blurring.
I rise from the stool and close the distance separating us, stepping between his knees, resting my hands against his shoulders. “We don’t have to stay long.”
“That’s not the part I’m worried about.” His eyes darkening just a tiny bit, and with that, the brutal honesty I know he’ll always give me.
I slide my fingers into the hair at the back of his neck. “Hayden.”
His hands settle at my hips, his intense gaze locking onto mine. “I don’t like that Gild matters this much to you.”
“No,” my brow furrows as realization hits hard enough that I feel it low in my chest. “You’re what matters. The Gild is a place to share what I want with you.”
Something shifts in his expression then. Something rough and knowing. “Are you sure you’re ready for that?”
“In controlled doses I am.” I laugh then, realizing the irony of my response.
“I only know how to do control one way when I’m there.” His voice takes on a lower, more dangerous tone; one that I know is a warning.
“And I’m asking for that.” I step further between his legs, my body now almost flush with his.
His grip tightens against my hips before he exhales once through his nose like he already knows he’s losing this argument. “What time?”
Victory. It’s dangerous and thrilling at the same time. I smile against his mouth as I press a kiss to his lips. “Seven.”
“Fine.” The word sounds reluctant. The hand sliding beneath the back of my shirt absolutely does not. And suddenly I’m very aware that my plan to go home is going to be delayed considerably.