Page 44 of Once Upon A Second Chance
Just this.
Just us.
Penny stirs, her body stretching against mine in a way that makes my breath catch. Her fingers tighten briefly around mine before she stills again, sighing contentedly.
I press a kiss to the nape of her neck, so light she won't feel it.
The clock on the bedside table reads 6:47 AM.
Slowly, carefully, I extract myself from the tangle of limbs and sheets, pausing when Penny makes a soft noise of protest. But she just burrows deeper into the pillows, her hair fanning out across my vacant spot like she's claiming it.
The hardwood is cool under my bare feet as I pad to the bathroom. My reflection in the mirror is unfamiliar—hair sticking up in every direction,beard scruffier than usual, the ghost of a smile tugging at my lips.
There's a faint red mark on my collarbone where Penny bit me last night, and the memory sends heat curling low in my stomach.
The shower turns on with a groan of pipes, the water taking a full minute to warm up. I step under the spray, letting it sluice away the last remnants of sleep.
By the time I emerge, toweling my hair dry, I realize I’m hungry. I throw on some sweat pants and go out into the kitchen, starting the coffee and putting some bacon in a fry pan on the stove.
In a few minutes Penny joins me, probably drawn by the smell of freshly brewed coffee and bacon.
She perches on the counter in nothing but my t-shirt from last night and her leggings, and I hand her a steaming mug.
"Morning," she says, voice still rough with sleep.
I bracket her thighs with my hands as I lean in to kiss her. She tastes like sleep and coffee, her lips warm and soft undermine.
"You were supposed to stay in bed," I murmur against her mouth.
She hums, tangling her fingers in my damp hair. "Missed you."
The words, so simple, so effortless, hit me square in the chest. I kiss her again, deeper this time, until the coffee is forgotten and her mug is set hastily aside.
The bacon is burning.
"Shit," I mutter, turning to rescue breakfast.
Penny laughs, hopping down to help, mixing some pancake batter and getting out the griddle, her bare feet silent on the hardwood. She moves around the small kitchen like she's been here forever, grabbing plates and forks without having to ask where they're kept.
It's domestic. It's easy.
It's everythingI never knew I needed.
The truck's cab is warm with mid-morning sunlight as we pack up the last of our things.
Penny tosses her duffel into the backseat with considerably less care than she'd used when packing it, the straps dangling precariously close to a half-empty water bottle.
"You sure we got everything?" she asks, squinting back at the cabin as I lock the front door.
I jingle the keys. "Unless you wanted to take the hot tub with us."
She snorts, sliding into the passenger seat. "Tempting. But I think Mrs. Delaney would notice if we showed up with a Jacuzzi in your truck bed."
The engine rumbles to life, the sound shattering the peaceful quiet we'd grown accustomed to over the weekend.
Penny immediately reaches for the radio, scrolling through static-filled stations until she lands on something folksy and acoustic. The singer croonsabout highways and heartbreak as we bump down the gravel driveway, the cabin shrinking in the rearview mirror.
For a while, neither of us speaks.
