Chapter 14 Dave
DAVE
I wake up to complete darkness. For a second, I think I’m in a coffin, but then my eyes adjust, and I take in my surroundings.
The room exudes a cozy warmth, far surpassing the comfort of my own. A green chair is positioned in the corner, accompanied by a lamp behind it. Next to the chair, there’s a table cluttered with books. On the opposite side, there’s a tall armoire with photos lining its top.
Movement draws my gaze downward, admiring the woman lying next to me. Sara has an arm and a leg draped over me, pinning me in place. Not that I mind; if I could wake up like this every day, I would be a happy man.
She shifts in her sleep, and her breast brushes my arm, sending a wave of awareness straight to my cock.
“Good morning, baby,” I whisper into her ear.
“Good morning.” A lazy smile spreads across her face. “What time is it?”
My gaze drifts to the clock on her nightstand. “It’s seven.”
“In the morning?” she yelps before burrowing her head into my chest.
A low chuckle escapes me. “Yes, in the morning.”
“It should not be legal to wake up before noon.” Her voice is indignant.
“Is that so?” I say as I roll her onto her back, my knees bracketing her hips, and let a little of my weight settle onto her, pinning her in place. I’m rewarded with a wide grin.
“Yes, especially on the weekend.”
I smile, a wicked grin spreading across my face. “I bet I can make waking up fun for you.”
“Oh, really, what do you have in mind?” she asks, her voice sultry.
“Well, I was thinking—breakfast in bed,” I say, leaning down to kiss her neck.
She perks up. “Oh, I love that idea.”
“I thought you might. Now I’m going to enjoy my meal, and then I’ll make you yours.”
* * *
I’m cooking a simple breakfast: waffles, eggs, and bacon, when Sara saunters into the kitchen, clutching the sloth I bought her to her chest. The sight of her makes me feel at ease and relaxed, but the guilt of not telling her the whole truth bubbles up again, but I shove it down, focusing on the moment instead.
“Wow,” she says through a yawn, her voice still sleepy as she wraps her arms around my waist. “It smells amazing.”
I turn, pulling her into a proper hug, holding her close. I breathe in her sweet and intoxicating scent. “Thanks,” I murmur into her hair. “I learned from my Bubbe.”
She scrunches her eyebrows together in confusion. It’s so adorable.
“That’s what I called my grandmother.”
“Oh,” she says with a soft smile, “you said ‘called’...”
“Yeah,” I take a sip of my coffee, averting my gaze. It never gets easier no matter how many times I’ve said it outloud. “She passed away a few years ago.”
Her body stills for half a second before she tightens her hold on me. “Oh. I’m so sorry.”
I close my eyes as she hugs me tighter, the comfort of her arms settling around me, and for a brief moment, the guilt eases—replaced by the ache of knowing how much this woman already means to me.
It would be the perfect time to tell her everything.
“Hey—” I try to start the conversation when she interrupts me.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” She slides out of my arms.
“I’ll take some chamomile.”
Sara freezes midway to the cabinet, “I didn’t say I had chamomile.” She looks at me suspiciously.
“Oh—I mean, I’d love some if you had it. It’s my favorite type of tea.” I say, quickly trying to recover from my slip-up.
“Oh, really? It’s mine too,” she replies excitedly. “I just got this new brand the other day. It’s been one of my favorites.”
“Hmm.” I turn my focus to the stove so I don’t accidentally let it slip that I was the one who picked up her new favorite tea.
Sara grabs a kettle from the cabinet, fills it with water, and places it on the burner next to the eggs. She hands me two plates from the cabinet, and I start plating our breakfast. Being here with her feels almost domestic, and I find that I am enjoying this feeling. I wish this was us every day.
“So, what do you have planned today?” she asks in between bites.
“I don’t have anything planned.” I smile at her, enjoying the food. It warms me to know she’s eating more than cereal and canned tuna. “What did you have in mind?”
“Well, we could have a lazy day in, binge-watch some shows, and then maybe you could hang out and watch me stream tonight?” Her voice trails off at the end, like she’s nervous.
“That sounds great to me.” I brush a piece of hair behind her ear. “Don’t be nervous, I’m excited to watch you in action.”
“Thanks.” She smiles softly. “Let me grab snacks and Sir Sloths-A-Lot, and we’ll get started.”
“Oh, is that his name?” I gesture to the sloth sitting beside her on the counter.
“Yup, he’s my emotional support buddy.”
I chuckle. “I knew you’d like him when I saw him.” The moment the words were out of my mouth, my eyes instantly snap to hers.
Her eyes widen. “What do you mean when ‘you saw him’?”
“I—” I start, but I’m at a loss for words.
She looks at me expectantly, her expression calm, her eyes giving nothing away.
I put my fork down, turning fully to her, and take a deep breath. Just do it, rip it off like a band-aid.
“I’m your DoorDash shopper,” I confess, immediately cringing at the words.
“I’m sorry—what?” Her voice jumps an octave.
Clearing my throat, I stuff my hands into my pockets. “I’m the one who’s been delivering to you these past few weeks.”
Realization flashes across her face. “The soup?”
“I made it,” I admit quietly. “I didn’t think you should be eating canned soup while you were sick. I should’ve told you sooner—I know that—but—” I trail off when I really see her expression. The warmth drains from her eyes, replaced by anger.
“Get. Out.”
“Sara, please.” I take a step towards her, but she retreats.
“No.” Her voice is steady, unyielding. “I want you out. Now.”
Defeated, I gather my things and head towards the door, preparing for my walk of shame home. Before leaving, I turn back toward the kitchen, taking one last look at her. The pain in her eyes broke my heart.
I did that.
The feeling lingers with me all the way home.