Chapter 25 Iris
IRIS
The first thing I notice is the empty space beside me.
My hand reaches across the rumpled sheets, fingers searching for the warmth that should be there, finding cool linen instead.
For a split second, panic flutters in my chest. Did he leave?
Did I dream the whole thing? But then the smell hits me.
Pancakes. Warm butter. The smoky richness of bacon crackling in a pan.
The relief that washes over me is almost embarrassing.
I press my face into the pillow and smile, inhaling the faint trace of pine and soap that lingers on the fabric.
My body aches in the most delicious way, muscles I’d forgotten I had making themselves known as I stretch.
Last night feels like a dream, but the evidence is everywhere in the way my skin still tingles, in the flutter low in my belly when I remember his hands, his mouth.
God, Iris. You really went and did it, didn’t you?
I roll over, squinting at the pale light filtering through my curtains.
Outside, the world has been transformed overnight.
A fresh blanket of snow covers the yard, the trees, the neighbor’s fence.
A clean slate for the new year. The sky is a soft, cloudy gray, the kind that makes you want to stay inside all day and do absolutely nothing productive.
Perfect weather for staying in bed, curled up with a certain six-four man.
I spot Collin’s T-shirt hanging on my closet doorknob, the one he’d given me the night he brought me home from the bar.
Without thinking too hard about it, I slip it over my head.
The fabric is soft and worn, smelling like me after a few too many wears.
I pair it with my most ridiculous pajama pants—the ones covered in Winnie-the-Pooh characters that Jamie picked out for me last Christmas.
I pad down the hallway, bare feet silent on the hardwood floors, and pause at the entrance to the kitchen.
The scene that greets me makes my heart somersault in my chest.
Jamie is perched at the kitchen table, his hair sticking up at impossible angles, completely absorbed in demolishing what appears to be a Mickey Mouse-shaped pancake.
Blueberries form the eyes, and there’s a whipped cream smile that’s mostly been devoured, leaving sticky traces around my son’s mouth.
He’s chattering away about something, his little legs swinging beneath the table.
Collin is standing at the stove, fully dressed unfortunately, flipping pancakes.
His hair is tousled, sleeves pushed up to his elbows.
Ace, sprawled beneath Jamie’s chair, ever hopeful that something delicious might fall his way.
“Mama!” Jamie spots me first, his face lighting up like Christmas morning.
“Collin made Mickey Mouse pancakes! Look, this one has ears!” Collin turns at the sound of Jamie’s voice, and his eyes immediately sweep over my outfit.
The corner of his mouth quirks up in that way that makes my pulse skip, his gaze lingering on where his shirt hangs loose on my frame.
“Mornin’ sleeping beauty,” he says, the warmth in his tone making heat bloom in my cheeks. “Nice pants.” He smirks pointing toward my legs with the spatula.
“Shut up,” I mumble, but I’m smiling as I say it. “They’re comfortable.”
“I didn’t say anything bad about them.” His grin widens as he reaches for a mug.
“Very cute.” The way he draws out that last word makes it clear he’s not talking about my pajama pants at all.
I stick my tongue out at him, which only makes him laugh.
He pours coffee into the mug. My favorite mug, I notice, the one with the chip on the handle that I’m too attached to to throw away, and walks over to me.
When he presses it into my hands, his fingers linger against mine, warm and calloused and perfect.
The brief contact makes my stomach flip.
“Cream and sugar,” he says quietly. “Just how you like it.” I take a sip and nearly moan. It’s perfect, of course it is. He’s been paying attention, the same way he’s been paying attention to everything else about me.
“You didn’t have to make breakfast,” I say, though I’m not complaining. The last time someone made me breakfast was... well, I can’t actually remember the last time.
“I know, I...” he starts, and the words tumble from my lips at the exact moment they leave his.
“Wanted to.” He’s said those words so many times, with such certainty, that they’ve become as familiar as my own heartbeat.
I know them to be true now. Jamie pipes up from the table, syrup-sticky fingers waving in the air.
“Collin says we’re gonna go on an adventure today! Right, Collin?” Collin’s eyes meet mine over the rim of my coffee mug, and I catch something playful dancing in their depths.
“That depends on what your mom wants to do.”
“What’s even open on New Year’s Day?” I ask, settling into the chair across from Jamie. “Most places are closed.” Collin’s grin lights up his face.
“The aquarium?”
“The aquarium,” I repeat, raising an eyebrow. “You want to go look at fish.”
“I want to go look at fish with you,” he corrects. “And Jamie, of course.”
“Fish!” Jamie bounces in his seat, nearly upsetting his orange juice.
“Can we see the sharks? And the jellyfish? Ooh, and the stingrays!” I’m about to respond when Collin moves behind my chair, his hand briefly brushing my shoulder as he reaches for something on the counter.
Then I feel him gently tug on one of my curls, letting it bounce back into place.
“You’ve got serious bedhead,” he murmurs, close enough that I can feel his breath against my ear. “It’s cute.” My cheeks flame.
“I just woke up.”
“I know,” he says, and there’s something in his voice that makes me remember exactly how thoroughly he kept me awake last night.
“You look beautiful anyway.” Stop it, I think, fighting the urge to squirm in my chair.
He’s going to make me combust right here at the breakfast table.
Jamie, blissfully unaware, continues his campaign for the aquarium.
“Please, Mama? Pretty please with a cherry on top?”
“Alright, alright.” I laugh, ruffling his hair. “But first you need to finish your breakfast and get dressed.”
“Yes!” Jamie pumps his fist in the air, then immediately returns to his pancake with renewed focus.
Collin catches my eye and winks, and I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling too widely.
There’s something about this whole morning that feels like a glimpse into a life I hadn’t dared to imagine for myself. Not after Owen.
“I should probably get dressed too,” I say, standing up.
“What? No more Winnie-the-Pooh pants?”
“You like them?”
“I don’t know,” Collin says, with a smirk.
“They’re growing on me.” I feel heat creep up my neck.
This new version of myself, the one who spent the night in Collin’s arms, who’s wearing his shirt and feeling bold enough to flirt back, is still strange to me.
But I like her. I like the way she makes Collin’s eyes darken, the way she’s not afraid to want things.
“Finish your breakfast, baby,” I tell Jamie, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “And then go get dressed. Warm clothes, okay? It’s cold out there.”
“Okay, Mama!” Jamie’s already planning his outfit, I can tell. “Can I wear my new hockey jersey?”
“Of course you can.” Jamie scarfs down the rest of his pancake in record time, then scrambles down from his chair.
“I’m gonna go get ready right now!” He tears off toward his room, Ace trailing behind him with hopeful eyes, and suddenly the kitchen feels much quieter.
Much more intimate. I’m rinsing my coffee mug in the sink when I feel Collin step up behind me.
I’m about to turn around when he gently spins me to face him, then lifts me up and sets me on the counter in one smooth motion.
“Collin—” I start, but he’s already stepping between my legs, his hands braced on either side of my hips.
“I’ve been wanting to do this all morning,” he murmurs, then kisses me.
It’s not gentle like some of last night’s tender moments.
This kiss is hungry, desperate, like he’s making up for lost time.
His hands fist in the fabric of his T-shirt that I’m wearing, pulling me closer, and I can’t help the soft sound that escapes me.
“Never getting this shirt back, am I?” he asks against my mouth, and I can feel him smiling.
“Probably not,” I admit, breathless. “I think I’m going to keep it.”
“Good,” he says, pressing another kiss to the corner of my mouth. “It looks better on you anyway.” I feel bold, reckless, alive in a way I haven’t in years. My hands slide up his chest, fingers curling into his shirt as I pull him closer.
“Does it now?”
“Mhmm,” he hums, his forehead resting against mine. “Definitely. Though I have to say, I’m partial to how you looked without it too.”
“Collin,” I breathe, and the way he says my name in response—low and rough and wanting—makes me forget that we’re in my kitchen at nine in the morning with my son just down the hall.
I lean in to kiss him again, teeth catching his bottom lip, and he groans softly.
His hands slide up my thighs, thumbs brushing along the ridiculous cartoon characters on my pajama pants, and I’m just thinking about how much trouble we could get into before Jamie comes back when—Thump thump thump.
The sound of little feet running down the hallway makes me jerk away from Collin, practically launching myself off the counter. He steps back quickly, running a hand through his hair, and we’re both breathing hard when Jamie bursts into the kitchen.