I gulp. I try to tell myself Idon’twant him to do exactly that.
It’s not working.
“Katharine.” His voice is warning.
“Fine!” I scowl. “But they better be some damn orgasmic pancakes, that’s all I’m saying.”
He smirks like I’m an adorable inconvenience, crosses to me, and before I realize what’s happening, he’s hoisted me over his shoulder so my ass is in the air and my limbs are dangling.
“Wyatt!” I squeal, staring at the small of his back as he starts to move. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Bringing you downstairs.”
“I could’ve walked!”
“Probably. But I’m thinking you’re going to need to save your energy for later.” His hand squeezes my ass playfully.
“You’re insane.”
He doesn’t deny it, but I can feel laughter rumbling through him as he carries me like a firefighter rescuing a victim from the flames. He sets me down on his kitchen counter, presses a quick kiss to my forehead, and proceeds to make us breakfast.
Fleetingly, I wonder why it doesn’t feel strange or uncomfortable to be here with him, why I don’t have that slightly panicked energy coursing through me like I would after any other sleepover with a man. It doesn’t take me long to realize why.
This isn’t any man.
It’s Wyatt.
I watch him moving around the kitchen with ease, cracking eggs and sifting flour and squeezing orange juice. I feel totally at home. Like we’ve done this a million times. Like we’re a genuine couple, who’ve fallen into a comfortable pattern. It makes me happy and sad at the same time. I feel the weight of our wasted weeks, pressing down on me.
He sees the twisted expression on my face and drops the spatula with a thud, sending batter flying in all directions. He crosses to me and stands between my knees, so we’re eye to eye.
“What is it, baby?”
My voice is clogged with unshed tears. “This is how it should’ve been. That morning, after the cast party. If I’d just waited another five minutes… but I thought you regretted it, I thought you’d left me there…”
“Hey.” His hands cup my cheeks, tilt my head up so my eyes are locked on his. “Things happen for a reason. Maybe, a month ago, you weren’t ready for this. I don’t know. I don’t care. You’re here now, and that’s all I care about.” His lips brush mine. “We’re together. No more secrets. No more lies. No more miscommunications.”
A pang of guilt shoots straight through my midsection, where my one last secret has taken root.
I need to tell him.
I know I need to tell him.
I just need to find the right moment.
“I love you,” I whisper, crying a little.
“I know, baby.” His arms wrap around my back, pull me in close so I can hear the thudding of his heartbeat beneath my ear as it presses against his warm, bare chest. Its tempo stutters as he whispers something else, something I’ve never heard him say out loud before, but already know in my heart.
“I love you too, Katharine.”
Exhausted or not, I summon the energy to tug his lips to mine, to peel the shirt up over my head and kick his sweatpants to his ankles. Breakfast burns to a crisp on the stove as we make love on his countertop. I don’t care in the slightest. Things like food and water and sleep lose all meaning as we gasp and sigh and cry out. Any needs outside the singular need to consume each other have dissolved away into nothingness.
Later, when we’ve managed to eat and shower and stop tearing each other’s clothes off, we’re sitting in Wyatt’s favorite spot — a tiny gazebo nestled in the middle of a pond at the edge of his property — watching the sun slowly sink toward the edge of the horizon. I’m leaning back against his chest on the padded bench, his arms are wrapped around my midsection, and everything feels remarkably simple.
Still, as the sky turns cotton-candy pink signaling the end of the day, I know the bubble we’ve been living in is about to pop. Real life is returning with an alacrity I’m not ready to face. Wyatt seems to realize it too — his hold tightens around me, as if I’m already slipping away from him.
“You have an interview tomorrow?” he asks after a while.