Page 23 of Wild Ever After
Never in his life with her had he been so nervous. Not even when they were first dating and he was doing all he could to make a good impression.
He’d be lying if he didn’t admit to thinking she may have checked out and returned to her apartment. He hoped not. He hoped she was as ready to put all of their shit behind them as he was.
Seconds later the door opened. The hotel’s plush, deep blue robed covered the body of a very sleep, bed head adorned, Bella.
“Is that… Coffee?” she asked, pointing to a thermos he carried hooked on one of his fingers.
“If you’ll take it from me, it just might be.”
She didn’t have to be told twice. She eased it from him and held it protectively against her chest. “You made it? At Riley’s?”
“Yes.”
“And…” She eyed the picnic basket in his arms, the one with a single broken handle.
“Breakfast,” he added helpfully.
She stepped back for him to enter the darkened room. She hadn’t even turned on a lamp.
“How long have you been awake?”
“Since five, I guess. I didn’t really sleep well.”
“The couch not as comfortable as it used to be?”
Harry chuckled. “Something like that.”
“What did you make?”
“If you’ll flip a light on, you’ll see. How’s your bottom this morning?” he asked. She turned on the light in the bathroom, which kept most of the main area in shadows and softness. He was good with that for the time being. “Is it tender?”
“A little more than.” She finally put the thermos down and opened the basket. “Oh Harry.”
“Happy Birthday,” he said softly.
“My favorites.”
Her voice wasn’t quite steady, but he knew she wouldn’t want him to notice. “Yes.”
Pancake sticks, she called them. Strips of bacon enrobed in pancake batter.
French toast bites.
Fresh strawberries and oranges.
His Bella had a thing for sweet breakfasts and strong, black coffee.
He’d been making birthday and Sunday breakfasts in the Walker household since he and Bella first got married.
“I can’t believe you did this.”
“I don’t know why not.” What he wouldn’t tell her was that he’d made this exact spread on her birthday last year, too. It sat on the kitchen counter the entire day before he tossed it out, never once taking a bite.
She was his habit, his obsession, his drug.
She was his love, his very life. “I’m sorry, Bella.”
She raised her eyes over the rim of the plastic cup filled to the very edge with coffee. She’d been inhaling the aroma. Now, she barely breathed at all.
