38. Josie
THIRTY-EIGHT
JOSIE
I wake up slowly. My eyelids drift open, and for a second, I don’t know where I am.
The room is unfamiliar, the morning light softer than what I’m used to.
It filters through curtains that are different than mine.
I stretch underneath the blanket pulled over me, realizing the bed is different—bigger. Warmer.
Then I realize…I’m not alone.
My heart races as everything from last night comes rushing back to me. The kitchen. His hands. The way he looked at me. The things he did to me on his kitchen counter.
The way he helped clean me up and held me after.
I shift on the mattress, taking in my surroundings.
Tyson’s arm is draped loosely over my waist. It’s heavy and warm—and I love the feeling of it there. His arm must’ve settled around me sometime in the middle of the night and never left. My head is tucked against his body, the steady rhythm of his chest rising and falling beneath my cheek.
I stay still. Partly because I’m comfortable, but also because I don’t want to disturb the moment.
Something about it feels fragile. Like if I move too quickly, I’ll break it, and it’ll disappear.
I’m half-afraid if I move too fast, I’ll blink and be back in my own bed, wondering if any of this actually happened.
My eyes close for a moment as it settles in that it did happen.
I’m here.
In Tyson’s bed.
Wearing his clothes.
For the first time in a long time, I feel completely at peace waking up next to a man.
There’s no second-guessing or unease lingering beneath the surface.
There’s just the steady warmth of his body next to mine and the feeling that this is exactly where I’m meant to be.
I smile at the realization, loving how right things feel this morning.
Before I can think better of it, I begin to trace small circles over his bare chest.
Tyson’s breathing changes almost instantly. His chest hitches as he lets out a long exhale. “Morning.” His voice is rough with sleep, the sound low and so close to my ear that it sends warmth through me.
I tilt my head up just enough to look at him. He stares back at me, his eyes half-lidded from sleep. I smile at the sight of his slightly disheveled hair. The way he stares back at me is softer than I’ve ever seen it—complete contentment written all over his face.
It makes my chest ache in a good way.
My smile grows. “Morning,” I respond.
A small smile pulls at the corners of his mouth before he tightens his arms around me, like he doesn’t want me to move. “You sleep okay?” he asks, his voice still raspy, sending warmth through me that makes my toes curl underneath the blanket.
I nod. “Yes. Better than expected.”
He lets out a low hum of satisfaction. “That sounds promising.”
“It is.”
For a moment, neither one of us says anything. I don’t know how much time passes, but eventually, he leans in and presses a tender kiss to the tip of my nose.
I close my eyes at the contact, wishing I could stay here longer. I don’t want to think about anything outside of this room, but I can’t help it.
Reality starts to creep in at the edges.
This deadline and the book.
Getting home to visit my grandpa.
The weight of reality settles back into place, and I can’t help but groan as I revel in the warmth of his body around mine.
“I should probably get up,” I mutter, my words coming out soft because getting up is the last thing I want to do.
We’ve been in a bubble in his room, and I don’t want to leave.
Something between us seemed to really shift last night.
I don’t know if it was because of the passion he made me feel with his mouth on me, or if it was the way he was open and vulnerable about why he’s dedicated his entire life to working so hard.
I wanted to pry more into why he felt the intense need to impress his father and what things are like between them now, but I wanted to allow him to say whatever he felt like without me asking questions.
The vulnerability he showed last night changed things between us.
I appreciate him opening up to me, and I can’t help but want more of that from him.
“What if we stayed here instead?” he rasps, his arms solid around me.
“Maybe just five more minutes,” I say, not wanting to leave his arms just yet. I know I need to. I can’t let him become the bad kind of distraction, but five more minutes wrapped up like this won’t hurt.
“I’ll take as long as you’ll give me,” Tyson murmurs as his arms tighten around me, and it’s all I need to accept that I’m not ready to leave his bed just yet.
My eyelids flutter shut as a unique sort of peacefulness settles over me—a sense of calm I’m learning only comes when I’m around him.
I wake up to the smell of coffee. I lie there, my eyes still closed, as I gather my bearings.
I’m still in Tyson’s bed. There’s the same softness of his sheets around me and the familiar scent of him—but there’s something missing. Warmth.
My eyes open, finding the space beside me in bed empty.
The sheets are slightly rumpled where he was, the pillow still indented from his head, but Tyson is gone.
A strange flicker of disappointment settles in my chest before I can stop it. I can’t help it. I miss him even when I’m lying in his bed.
The scent of coffee pulls me from my thoughts again. I inhale, letting it pull me out of the haze of falling back to sleep.
I push my body off the mattress to sit up slowly.
The oversized T-shirt—his shirt—slips off my shoulder as I glance around the room.
His room. The realization of it being his room lands differently in the morning.
It’s more real. I swing my legs over the side of a bed, a smile blooming on my lips as it sinks in that I spent the night next to Tyson.
All we did was talk—and kiss—before we fell asleep, cuddled up like it was something we’d done a million times before.
Before finding Tyson, I run to the bathroom and attempt to brush out the tangles in my hair with my fingers, and then I follow the smell of coffee.
I find Tyson moving around the kitchen like it’s just any other morning. He hums to himself, not realizing I’ve walked in yet.
“I didn’t mean to fall back asleep,” I say, catching his attention.
He looks up from where he stands at the stove, a spatula in his hand as he shuffles scrambled eggs around in the pan. “You looked so peaceful, I couldn’t wake you. Plus, it gave me time to feed you a proper breakfast this morning.”
I smile as I step into the kitchen and walk over to the counter. My cheeks heat for a moment as I let my gaze travel over the space where he made me the meal last night.
“Good timing though,” he notes, his focus on the eggs. “I was about to come get you.”
I lean against the counter, watching for a moment.
Now that he’s admitted how much he likes to be in control, I realize how much he’s seemed to loosen up from when I first met him.
He isn’t as intense. His shoulders aren’t as tight, and he hums to himself, something I’ve never heard him do until now.
He’s comfortable. It seems incredibly domestic—and even intimate—to see him like this.
He’s cooked for me before, but this feels different.
Maybe it’s the morning light and the smell of coffee, or the knowledge of what happened in this very kitchen last night and what followed after in his room, but watching him cook for me now feels different.
“It smells good in here,” I note, trying not to overthink anything right now.
He glances over his shoulder, a slight smirk tugging on his lips. “It’s because I’m not burning anything this time.”
I laugh and shake my head before pushing off the counter and stepping closer to him.
“You did great last night. No smoke or burning then either.”
“Believe it or not, I can cook,” he notes. “I just left the terrible impression that I couldn’t the first time.”
I smile before I lean my hip against the island and watch him plate the food.
He made scrambled eggs just the way I like them—extra cheesy—something I told him about yesterday at brunch, and he remembered.
There’s also bacon, toast, and fruit. I don’t know how long I was asleep, but clearly long enough for him to make a full breakfast.
He sets the plate down in front of me like it’s the most simple thing in the world for him to do, but it isn’t. It matters. It matters to me, a lot.
“Thank you,” I get out, my voice soft.
He shrugs, but his eyes flick to the fridge for a moment before he walks over and opens it. “Check what’s inside,” he commands, his voice low and gentle. I follow his gaze until I see it.
A coffee cup. The same to-go coffee from yesterday. The exact one I loved from the local spot here in town.
My heart flips in a way I wasn’t expecting. “You didn’t…” I trail off, taking the cup from him when he hands it to me.
“I got it delivered,” he offers, as if that makes it mean less. It doesn’t. “I figured you’d want that same coffee again this morning,” he continues.
Something about him knowing what I’d want without having to ask me makes my entire body feel warm with a new, unfamiliar feeling.
“Tyson,” I mutter, not knowing what to say. “Thank you,” I hurriedly get out, realizing that thank you is the first thing I should be saying to him. It’s so thoughtful that my chest tightens. To him, it might just be a coffee, but to me, it means more.
He gives me another shrug as if it shouldn’t mean much. “I guessed you were going to go get it anyway, so I decided to make it easy and order for you instead.”
He isn’t wrong. That honey latte was the best coffee I ever had, and I was fully planning on getting it again today, but that doesn’t mean I expected him to be the one to do it.
Tyson gestures for me to take a seat, and I do, giving him a smile as he holds the counter stool out for me before pushing me in.
He takes the seat next to mine, and we fall into a quiet rhythm.
We eat and sip our coffees—he has just a hot cup from the pot in his kitchen.
It feels incredibly normal to do this with him. Like it’s something we do all the time.
I finish taking a drink as my gaze finds his. “I’m going to write today,” I offer.
His gaze lifts immediately to find mine, the whisper of a smirk on his lips. “Yeah?”
I nod as I rub my lips together in an attempt to fight my own smile. “Yep. I feel different after last night. Inspired in a whole new way. Like I finally realize what I’ve been missing.”
He stares at me, his lips spreading even wider.
I love how freely he smiles around me now.
Gone are the days of careful, neutral expressions where I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
He wears it all on his face with me, something I cherish even more now after his confession last night.
“I’m glad,” he finally responds. He reaches across the space between us and lets his hand settle against the top of my thigh.
He holds it there as he takes another bite of his food.
I look at him for a few moments longer before glancing down at my coffee. “I’ll spend the morning and afternoon writing before heading into the city to see my grandfather tonight.”
Something flickers across his face—subtle, but there. Concern. “Everything okay?” he asks.
I nod quickly. “Yeah, I was going to tell you I was heading to Manhattan. It’s just one of our weekly dinners. I can’t wait to see him. I haven’t been back since I got out here.”
“I think that’ll be good for you,” Tyson responds, squeezing my thigh.
“Yeah, I’m excited. What are your plans for the day?”
Tyson’s jaw tenses for a moment before his features soften. “Just some work, and my sister will be coming by at some point to talk about the renovations.”
We fall into normal conversation as we finish eating. Time goes by too fast, and before I know it, I’m standing at the front door—still wearing his shirt and briefs—about to make the short walk over to my house.
We stare at each other in the entryway, neither one of us making any move to go. I want to stay with him, but I need to get back to the house and check on Mouse before getting some writing in today.
“How long will you be in the city?” Tyson asks. He reaches up and dusts his fingers along my cheekbone, his gaze trailing over me.
“I’ll probably stay with Pop tonight and then come back tomorrow. It kind of depends on the jet’s schedule.”
Tyson smiles. “Well, let me know if you need to use mine.”
“Using your jet to get me back here to you?” I tease.
He nods before resting his forehead against mine. “Absolutely.”
I smile because I can’t help it. It’s romantic—and hot.
“Thank you,” I say softly, my arms wrapping around his middle. I don’t want to thank him just for the private jet offer. Or the breakfast. But for last night. For all of it.
Without me having to say anything else, he seems to understand.
“Anything for you,” he mutters before leaning in to kiss me. He lets his words settle in my mind as his mouth moves against mine—slowly. It’s a kiss that makes it obvious he intends to do it again.
I don’t know how long we stay like that in the entryway, but eventually, he’s the one to pull away with a sigh. “Today’s going to feel so boring without seeing you,” he admits.
I nod because I feel the same. It feels weird to know I won’t see him until tomorrow at the earliest. It’s not long, but also feels incredibly long.
“Text me when you make it to the city. I also want you to tell me how writing goes today.”
“I will,” I respond, lifting to my toes to plant one last kiss on his lips.
Tyson lets go and takes a step back. He immediately tucks his hands into his pockets, as if stuffing them there is the only way he’s able to fight reaching out to touch me once again.
I rush out of his house before I decide not to write and to spend the day with him instead.
As I make my way back to my place, one thing settles in my mind, clear and undeniable—this is it.
This—whatever is happening with Tyson—is what I’ve been missing.
Not just in my writing.
In everything.
Unlike when I was first told my book needs to be rewritten, I don’t feel stuck at all.
I feel inspired.
Like the words are already there, waiting for me.
And I’m scared to realize just how much this all has to do with Tyson—and what that could mean for me and my heart.