Chapter One Hundred Fifty
Ruby
The sheets are cold when I wake up. Just cold enough to tell me Xavier’s been up for a little while. And for the first time, my chest doesn’t ache. I don’t immediately think he left. Instead, I smile into the pillow. Because I already know he’s still here.
The realization settles warm and soft through my chest while I stretch beneath the blankets. Every muscle in my body protests. Not painful. Just used. Heat creeps up my neck as flashes of last night hit me all at once.
His hands. His mouth. The way he kissed me like he was making up for every second we’d spent apart.
My fingers brush lightly over my chin. Stubble burn. His fault. I smile harder.
The smell of coffee drifts down the hallway. Along with the faint sound of Xavier talking. And Squirt snorting.
I push myself out of bed and grab the first thing within reach. His T-shirt. It hangs almost to my thighs when I pull it on, soft and smelling like him. Warm skin. Soap. Xavier.
My chest does another stupid little flutter before I can stop it. Ridiculous. One of Xavier’s socks lies by his boots on the floor—the other missing. Of course.
Still smiling, I pad barefoot down the hallway.
The kitchen comes into view. And God…. Xavier stands at the stove shirtless in a pair of gray sweatpants, spatula in one hand while Squirt roots aggressively against his leg beside him.
“You’re unbelievably pushy,” he tells him. Squirt grunts louder. “She’s your pig,” he mutters. “I’m trying to survive breakfast.”
A laugh slips out before I can stop it. His head turns. And the look on his face when he sees me, warm, sleepy, happy, hits me right in the chest.
“Hey,” he says. There’s that stupid word again.
“Hey.”
His eyes drift down my bare legs before coming back up. The corner of his mouth lifts. “That’s my shirt.”
“You left it unattended.”
“Dangerous decision.” Squirt grunts impatiently and shoves his nose harder against Xavier’s thigh. “He’s harassing me.”
“He thinks you owe him breakfast.”
“He’s emotionally manipulative.”
I smile and tip my head toward the corner. “He also stole one of your socks.”
“What?” In the middle of Squirt’s bed is the missing sock. Xavier shakes his head. “I didn’t even know it was missing.”
I laugh again until the smell hits me. Eggs. My stomach turns violently. “Oh, God.”
Everything inside me drops instantly. I slap a hand over my mouth and stop short in the middle of the kitchen.
Xavier’s expression changes. Concern replaces warmth so fast it gives me emotional whiplash. “What’s wrong?”
“The eggs.”
His eyes widen. “The eggs?”
“Nauseous.”
That’s all it takes. He moves. Pan in hand, he kills the burner, shoves open the window over the sink, then dumps the entire pan in the trash can. Squirt gasps in absolute betrayal.
Xavier sprays something citrus-scented into the air, ties the trash bag, and carries it straight out the back door. By the time he comes back in, the kitchen smells like lemon cleaner and coffee instead of breakfast. Squirt follows him back inside.
“He threw away your eggs,” I tell him sympathetically.
“He’ll survive.” Xavier grabs another spray bottle. Squirt bumps his calf hard enough to make him stumble. “You’re so dramatic.” I lean against the counter, trying to let my stomach settle as Xavier walks over. “Better?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “A little.”
His shoulders relax. “Good.” He reaches for the coffee pot. “Decaf.”
I stare at him as he pours a cup. “You switched my coffee?”
“You’re growing a human.”
I roll my eyes. “Already bossing me around.”
Xavier winks. “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”
Heat rushes over my entire body instantly. “Oh my God, you didn’t just say that.”
His grin turns downright smug. And annoyingly, he’s right. I did not mind last night. Not even a little.
He steps closer and hands me the mug before leaning down to kiss me. No desperation. No hesitation. Just warm. Slow. Happy.
Squirt grunts loudly between us.
Xavier sighs dramatically against my mouth. “You’re ruining the mood.” He snorts again. “You’re not getting eggs,” he informs him. “But I’ll find you something else.”
I laugh into his shoulder while his arm wraps loosely around my waist. Everything feels right. Perfect.
No waiting for something bad to happen. No bracing for him to disappear. Just morning light spilling through the windows. Coffee warming my hands. Decaf, but I’ll survive. And Xavier standing beside me barefoot in my kitchen while he argues with a pig.
Home.
It feels like home again.