Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Devin
A delicious smell tickles my nose, and I blink my eyes open. Morning light streams through the bedroom window, where frost still kisses the windowpanes. There’s a slight bite to the air, but it’s only touching my cheeks. Underneath the blankets, I’m warm and cozy.
Sitting up slowly, I arch my back and identify the smell that woke me. Pancakes.
Oliver’s making pancakes. One of my favorites.
I smile slowly, my happiness doubled by the realization that I’m feeling better.
After two days of the flare, I’m coming back to life.
Thank goodness it was a short one, although that was probably no coincidence.
Having Oliver stay here to take care of me has lessened my stress significantly.
The fog that’s been wrapping around my thoughts is finally lifting.
My muscles don’t ache the way they did yesterday.
Even the exhaustion that usually clings to my bones like wet sand feels lighter this morning.
His heavy footsteps approach the bedroom, and he stops in the doorway, his hand behind his back. “Hey. Want some breakfast?”
“Depends on what it is,” I tease, though of course I already know what he’s making.
“Chocolate chip banana pancakes.” He brings his arm to his front to reveal that he’s carrying a plate heaped with several pancakes, butter and syrup dripping down their sides, and a fork and knife resting next to them. Steam rises from the golden stack, and my stomach growls in response.
“Yes, please.” I start to get out of bed, but he gestures for me to stay where I am and brings the plate to me.
“Guess what?” He says, holding the plate out to me with a smile.
I grin back. “What?”
“After learning I got the recording on my watch, Bailey confessed to everything. He’s going to jail.”
I squeal. “That’s amazing.”
His smile widens, and I can see the relief written across his features—the tension he’s been carrying in his shoulders finally releasing. “Yeah it is, now eat your pancakes.”
I roll my eyes but take the plate of pancakes from his outstretched hand.
They’re still hot, the first taste like biting into a cloud.
Puffy, light, sweet. The chocolate chips have melted just enough to create pockets of richness throughout.
“Wow,” I say around the food. “You should have started cooking earlier.”
He chuckles. “If I remember correctly, you banned me from our New York kitchen.”
“Oh.” I giggle. “Yeah, maybe I did. Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. I was on track to burning the building down anyway.” He gets comfortable on the bed next to me, the mattress dipping under his weight. “I’ve learned how to turn off burners since then, though.”
“You’ve come so far.” I wolf down a few more bites, surprised to discover the pancakes are almost half gone. The syrup pools at the edges of the plate, and I drag a forkful through it.
“How are you feeling?”
“Good. Still a little tired, but I think if I stay in bed for a few more hours I can go into the practice later.” I’ve already had to cancel two yoga classes and reschedule a number of client appointments.
The guilt of that sits heavy in my chest, but I know better than to push through when my body needs rest.
“Please don’t push yourself.”
“I won’t. I don’t want to end up right back in another flare.” Full, I resist the last few bites of pancakes and put the plate on the bedside table.
“What do you think caused this last one?”
I hesitate, not wanting him to think he’s to blame for my health. It would be easy to come up with some excuse, but we’ve promised each other we’ll be transparent from here on out. “I think it was stress over what happened on the ski trip. It all caught up to me on the plane.”
He takes my hand in his, his thumb tracing gentle circles across my knuckles. “I’m sorry.”
“It happens. It’s not your fault. Stress is a part of life… and flares are a part of my life.”
He nods, and it’s a relief to see that he seems accepting of that. Not pitying. Not trying to fix it. Just accepting. “Want some more pancakes?”
“I didn’t even finish the ones you made me,” I laugh.
“They weren’t good?”
“They were amazing! Are you kidding me?”
He grins in pleasure, his smile lighting up the room. “How good?”
“Almost too good.”
He leans closer, his exhale tickling my face. “I didn’t know there was such a thing as too good.”
I try to come up with a response, but having him this close is scrambling my thoughts. Delicious shivers run up and down my arms, and my breathing speeds up. His eyes—those crystal blue eyes I’ve dreamed about for years—hold mine.
Taking the initiative, Oliver presses his lips to mine.
It’s a slow, gentle kiss, yet it carries the weight of a life-changing moment.
It’s a kiss between two people who have, in a way, defied the odds.
Out of all the towns in the world, he moved to mine.
He waltzed back into my life without even meaning to.
That alone feels like a miracle, and it makes this kiss, and every kiss from here on out, holy.
The kiss deepens, his strong hands gently cradling my waist. I can tell he doesn’t want to hurt me, and he’s struggling to hold back. His touch is feather-light, careful.
“I’m okay,” I whisper against his lips. “I’m feeling pretty good.”
To show him just how good I’m feeling, I slide my hands under his sweater and up his stomach.
His skin is warm beneath my palms, his muscles tightening at my touch.
He folds into the touch, his fingers curling into the soft fabric of my sweatpants.
The last remnants of my fatigue vanish, a wisp of smoke taken by the wind.
I’m more wide awake than I’ve ever been, ready to seize the bull by the horns.
I climb onto Oliver’s lap, my legs wrapping around his hips. His kiss strengthens, the feel of his tongue against mine turning my knees to jello.
“Is this okay?” He rasps, his voice rough with want. “I don’t want to give you another flare.”
I giggle against his lips. “You won’t. Trust me. This isn’t stressing me out at all.”
If he was waiting for a formal invitation, that must have been it.
With smooth, quick movements, he pulls my shirt off and tosses it to the floor.
His mouth captures my neck, sucking gently at the spot beneath my ear.
He knows just how to touch me, where to touch me.
It’s not that he’s reading me. He’s knowing me—like no one else in the world can.
Every brush of his lips, every sweep of his hands feels like coming home to something I’d forgotten I was missing.
Easing me onto my back, he braces his forearms on either side of my head and gazes down at me. Two crystal blue oceans swallow me up, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m perfectly fine getting lost in his eyes, and if I had my way, I would stay here forever.
His hand trails down my side, fingers hooking into the band of my sweatpants and pulling them down.
I push his shirt up his chest, laughing as I struggle to get it over his head.
Grinning, he pulls the covers back, and we snuggle underneath them, warm in our shared little cocoon.
The morning light filters through, casting everything in a soft glow.
Oliver kisses the tip of my nose. “I’ve dreamed so much of this.”
“Me, too,” I breathe, brushing my fingertips along the fine hair on his chest. His heartbeat drums steady beneath my palm.
His strong palms close around my hips, drawing me closer to him. Our lips meet, the kiss fiery and frantic. Heat builds between us, years of longing condensed into this single moment. He gently breaks the kiss and leans his forehead against mine with a soft chuckle.
“What?” I ask with a smile.
He draws back a little bit so that he can get a good look at my face. His eyes roam over my features like he’s memorizing every detail. “I love you so much it’s crazy, that’s what.”
Pleasure ripples through me, my smile broadening. It’s been years since he’s told me he loves me. Way too many years. The words wash over me like warm honey, filling all the empty spaces I didn’t realize were still there.
“I love you, too,” I whisper.
Wrapping my arms around him, I snuggle against his chest. I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be, or anyone I would rather be with. His heartbeat is strong and steady beneath my ear, a rhythm I could listen to forever.
This is it for me. This is home.
Home.
Because I’m back with Oliver. Back where I’ve always belonged.