Page 207 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions

We only had a few hours before we were due to pick up my dad for Juniper’s rehearsal. And then tomorrow was her wedding—and then…George would be flying back home to New York where he belonged.

I had just over a day left with him at best.

The thought was sobering.

And I didn’t…I didn’t know what to do with it.

Every time I acknowledged it, my chest began to squeeze. So tight I couldn’t breathe. So tight I couldn’t?—

It was better not to think about it.

Definitely better.

I needed to survive this—and at this point, I wasn’t sure I would.

“Breakfast is done.” George’s voice shocked me out of my reverie. I pulled my lips back, amused—and unsurprised—when I realized that in my distraction I’d left a rather dark hickey. My body was apparently as possessive as my thoughts, even subconsciously. George’s whole neck was covered in a myriad of bruises that he’d never attempted to conceal. A painting of our love affair written in varying shades of purple on his sunburnt skin.

These would last longer than our relationship.

Stop it, Alex.

Stop it.

George’s lack of shame was uncharacteristic.

I think…maybe he was proud of them. Or—maybe…just maybe he was as reluctant to let go of signs of us as I was.

“Hell yes.” I pulled away. Silently, I gathered two dinner plates and tried to ignore the elephant in the room—the timer ticking above our heads. George ignored it too. His focus was aimed at piling our plates high with the prettiest damn breakfast I’d ever seen. George had been modest when he’d talked about his culinary skills. This was a fucking masterpiece.

The smell was almost as good as the presentation, if that was any indicator of taste? I was so screwed. I’d probably ask him to marry me again. Like an idiot. Luckily for me, he’d thought I was joking before—when I really…embarrassingly…had not been.

“I like your kitchen,” George said, as he plopped a few sausages on my tray. “It’s nice. I like…your whole…um—house.”

“I’m glad.” My heart fluttered. I raised my voice and asked Alexa to turn on my show tunes playlist. Immediately, music filled the room, overtaking the silence.

George flashed me a smile, a private smile. So small I knew it was honest. A smile that was meant for me.

I kissed his shoulder and took the plates, bringing them to the dining room table I’d only ever used for work. When I pulled his chair out for him, he arched a judgy brow my way but otherwise didn’t complain. He simply slipped primly into his seat and dug in.

Sweet baby was hungry, apparently.

His bitty little bites had morphed into something more normal-people-sized. Maybe because he was more comfortable here. With me. A lot had changed since the day I’d taken him to the diner. It felt like a lifetime had passed.

I groaned when I took my first bite, fist smacking the table in appreciation. George’s nose scrunched like he was annoyed by the theatrics, even though his eyes said otherwise.

They said,thank you for letting me take care of you.

They said,thank you for not thinking I’m too much.

“You’re an idiot,” he teased, looking way too pleased with himself. “Do you really like it that much?”

“’Course I do. You made it.” I stabbed a bite of buttery egg and wagged it at him. “I love everything you make.” The friendship bracelet on my wrist dangled, proving the truth of the statement.

George cleared his throat, his cheeks flushed once again, betraying him. His lips pressed into a flat line that was more smile than scowl as he shrugged. “Okay.”

That was it.

Okay.

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