Page 59 of Bleacher Report

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You always start your day right here,

but I’m holding your mug hostage.

If you want it back, go check the place

where we turned a heating pad and Thai food into our first truce.

I blink.

The couch.

I jog back to the living room, already grinning.

Another note is under the throw blanket, wedged between the cushions with ruthless accuracy and curled at the edges.

You laughed, you snacked, and you definitely tried to hog the blanket.

But your mug’s not here.

Try the place where I keep things hot...and mildly spicy.

Bonus points if you find leftover noodles.

Oh my god.

The fridge?

I half-sprint back to the kitchen.

I yank open the fridge door. There’s a half-empty container of pad thai shoved in the back—and taped to it?

Another pink note.

Not just leftovers—this is where peace offerings live.

But your mug is still MIA. If you’re desperate,

check the place you go when things get really steamy…

like flat hair and melting mascara steamy.

“Seriously?”

He left a clue in the bathroom?

I tug the bathroom door open and find the note taped to the shampoo bottle like it’s been mocking me all morning.

Not here either. I’m not that cruel.

But you’re so close. You once said this place held all your secrets.

Better check the drawer where your secrets actually live.

Secrets.

My nightstand drawer?

He better not have touched my vibrator.

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