I put the bowl of popcorn on the end table, gently step over Sugarfoot who’s taken residence right in front of the couch, then get on my knees in front of Elijah, taking his hands in mine.
“Your ex had a problem with you making sure your family was taken care of? That’s bullshit. Your brother was living with you, there was no way you’d be able to prioritize her. And you shouldn’t have. And her thinking that makes her a shit person. Not you. She should’ve realized how lucky she was to have such a good man in her life.
“I know our circumstances aren’t the best. I know we can’t talk about each other to our friends. I know we won’t be going out to eat together or hitting up a movie theater. But you know what? I’m okay with that. I’m okay with this,” I say, gesturing around the room. “Meeting you here, having dinner and spending time together. This is fine.”
He brushes a curl away from my face, his knuckles gently grazing my cheekbone before he unfurls his fingers and cups my cheek in his palm.
“I’d still be putting myself before you.”
I cover his hand with mine. “And I’d be a selfish bitch if I wanted you to risk your career just to take me to lunch. I wouldn’t let that happen, Elijah. Don’t beat yourself up.”
“I don’t know what this is,” he admits.
“I don’t either. Let’s just have fun. Let’s enjoy this for however long we can. I still want to know you.”
He brings his other hand to the other side of my face and pulls me up until our lips meet. He kisses me softly at first, and then our tongues tangle together, and he brings me onto his lap.
“Will you stay the night?” he asks, lifting my shirt over my head.
“I thought that was already determined,” I reply with a grin.
“I didn’t want to assume,” he says, cupping my breasts and bringing his mouth to one.
“Such a gentleman.”
“I’m about to not be,” he growls, standing up and making his way back upstairs with me wrapped around him.
31
When I wake up in the morning, before I open my eyes, I roll over and reach for Nova. When my hand touches the cold sheet, I prop myself up on my elbow and look around. It isn’t until I’m getting out of the bed that I hear a noise downstairs.
Following the sound of music, I make my way downstairs and find Nova standing in my kitchen still wearing my shirt. Her back is to me as she faces the stove, a spatula in hand. Sugarfoot stays near her, waiting for her to drop something.
I don’t mean to be a creep and just watch her, but seeing her swaying her hips to music while making food in my kitchen makes me pause. I can’t help but smile as she curses and attempts to flip over what I think is a pancake.
“Whaddya think, Sugarfoot?” she says aloud, glancing down at the dog. “Think he’ll eat it? I mean, it’s not about what it looks like.”
Sugarfoot whines then lays down in front of the oven.
When I make my way into the kitchen, Nova spins around and grins. “I’m attempting breakfast.”
I stroll up to her and note the tiny amount of pancake batter on her cheek. I wipe it off with my thumb and then peer into the pan. One looks a little thin and dark and the other has started tearing in two.
“I know they look a little funny, but these are practice ones. I’ll get the next ones to look better.”
I chuckle, hauling her into me. After kissing her forehead, I say, “It’s okay. I’ll eat them no matter what.”
Her grin widens into a full-blown smile.
“Seems like you showered already, so I’m gonna take a quick one and then I’ll be down here ready to eat.”
“Yeah, okay. Me and Sugarfoot got this. Huh, man?” she says, looking back at the dog.
He lifts his head up briefly before laying it on his paws.
“Okay, I’ll be back,” I say, giving her hip a little squeeze.
After showering and brushing my teeth, I stand in the room getting dressed and revel in how it feels to have someone else in the house.
Nova’s turned the music up, easily figuring out how to pair her phone with the small Bluetooth speaker in the kitchen, and her jovial laugh travels all the way upstairs and into my room.
The smile on my face feels permanent, like I’ll never be able to wipe it off even if I tried.
Once dressed in a pair of lounge pants and a T-shirt, I jog downstairs and find her holding Sugarfoot’s front paws and moving to the music.
She throws her head back and laughs, then drops to her knees, allowing the dog to nuzzle into her. Sugarfoot attempts to lick her face, and when she backs up, she loses her balance and falls on her butt.
“All right, you win,” she says, petting his head, still laughing. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
My heart swells at the sight. Not just because she’s playing with my dog. Everybody loves Sugarfoot. But because this feels so right. It feels like she belongs here. I’d never tire of this scene in the mornings.
“Pancakes are done,” she says, getting up from the floor. “I covered them up and put them in the microwave.” Nova moves to the sink to wash her hands. “I didn’t make anything else, though. I think I was too confident with the pancakes. I probably should’ve just made toast,” she says with a
