Page 113 of Love Me

She straddles my lap, peppering kisses on my face. My chest overflows with potent emotions. Heaven must exist on earth as well. There’s no other explanation for what I’m experiencing now with her. It’s just too right, too perfect, too surreal.

Her stomach rumbles and she giggles. “Ignore it.”

“Can’t because that means it’s time I feed my girl.”

“I didn’t even check if we have food.”

We. A piano concert from a virtuoso plays in my chest whenever I hear her refer to us.

“I brought some, and we also have stuff in the pantry. Any preferences?”

“Pancakes.”

I press my lips against her forehead, lingering longer to ensure I am not dreaming. A contented sigh rolls out of her mouth, confirming I haven’t lost my mind. She’s here.

I pull my sweatpants on and go downstairs. Reaching the kitchen, I look through the pantry for the flour, then move to the fridge. When I turn around, she’s leaning against the door. “We don’t have eggs,” I say.

“Then something else.”

If she wants pancakes, she’ll get them.

“There is a farm nearby.”

“Kaden…”

But I am adamant. I kiss her before I get in the car and track down the farm stand. Finding the eggs and milk, I grab both, hurrying back to her. Every moment I don’t spend with her is a lost one.

When I return, she’s in the kitchen swaying her hips to music coming from the radio.

“I can sense you.”

“Just enjoying the view.”

She takes the eggs and milk from my hands, preparing the batter while I put butter in the pan.

She flips one after another. I nod, impressed.

“We always had them on Sundays,” she says.

“Tell me more.”

“Mia, Hunter, and I. That was our Sunday tradition. I couldn’t even work a pan to save my life. Hunter was just plain lazy. One Sunday, we waited for Mia to make them when she told us we had to do it instead. We had so much fun that day.”

“It sounds… nice.”

“I miss hearing you play,” she says over her shoulder.

“I haven’t done it in a while.”

She turns to me. Her features pull tight with guilt. “I’m sorry for ruining the piano.”

“I am not. It gave me hope. I just didn’t want to upset you more.”

Celine makes smiley faces with whipped cream and blueberries on one pancake, Nutella and banana on another, and she drenches the others in maple syrup.

We take our seats, indulging.

A bright smile lights up her face. “We’re going to be sick.”

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