Page 52 of One Pucking Secret
His words unfurl a tenderness within me, one that has roots entwined around memories of Wyatt’s own fractured past. I wrap my arms around him and hug him tightly, wishing Icould shield him from every shadow that lingers. He responds in kind, his arms a fortress around me.
As we drift off, bodies entangled, the pulse of Los Angeles outside becomes a distant murmur. Here, in Wyatt’s embrace, everything falls away until there’s nothing left but the steady rhythm of two hearts finding solace in each other’s beat.
Chapter 18
Wyatt
Chloe’s back is agentle slope against my chest as I wake, delicate against the bulk of my hockey-worn muscles. I tighten my arms around her, and the thought flickers through me that this feels right.
Her skin is bathed in morning gold, turning her into something ethereal, a dream made of flesh. While a small part of me is still having trouble letting go of the lies and secrecy, an even bigger part harbors the urge to protect her and hold her like this forever. I give in to a tight squeeze, my fingers pressing just enough to feel her stir.
“Good morning,” Chloe murmurs, voice husky with sleep as she turns to face me. A lazy smile plays on her lips, her green eyes still clouded from dreams.
“Morning.” My voice feels thick, laced with an emotion I’m not ready to name out loud.
Slipping free from my embrace, she stretches like a cat, arms reaching for the ceiling, every line of her body speaking of languid grace. “I’m so tired,” she admits with a yawn.
“We did stay up late,” I tease, letting my arms find their way back to her. She nestles into me, smiling at the memory.
“Want some breakfast?” I ask, already picturing her sitting at the kitchen island, sunlight catching in her auburn hair.
“That sounds wonderful.” She pushes herself up, looking back at me with a spark in her gaze. “But this time, let me help.”
We untangle ourselves from the sheets and get dressed. Chloe puts on my shirt, oversized on her smaller frame. I change into a clean T-shirt and joggers, leading the way into the kitchen with Chloe following behind.
“Let’s get some energy back into you.” I chuckle, setting the ingredients on the counter with a soft thud, a package of apple sausages and a few eggs. My next step is to pop some bread into the toaster.
Chloe moves to the coffeemaker. “Still a black coffee drinker?” she asks, albeit a bit awkwardly. It’s as if we’re still navigating this new version of us.
“Always have been, always will be,” I affirm as I crack eggs into a bowl. The hiss of the pan greets the sausages, the air quickly filling with the smell of sizzling apples and spices.
“But I did buy some creamer for you. It’s in the refrigerator.” I gesture with my chin, unable to suppress the hint of pride at my foresight.
“You did?” Her voice carries the shock of a pleasant surprise, and when she opens the fridge, her soft exhale tells me all I need to know. “My favorite flavor too.”
“Guess I got lucky.” Seeing how much it means to her makes me smile.
The omelet takes shape under my spatula, with the eggs and herbs melding into a smooth, golden layer. Together, we set the table, cutlery clinking, a duet of domesticity that sings of shared moments yet to come.
Forks scrape against plates, the sound mingling with the morning bustle outside. I chase the last bite of omelet with a gulp of black coffee, its bitterness a welcome jolt to my senses. Across the table, Chloe sips from her cup, the steam curling like a figurative question mark into the air between us.
“So, what’s on your agenda today?” she asks, tucking a stray lock of auburn hair behind her ear.
“Rest,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Gotta recharge for practice tomorrow.” My muscles hum in agreement, yearning for nothing more than an easy day.
Chloe nods, her spoon clinking as she stirs creamer into her coffee, a little vortex of routine and comfort. “I’m picking up Jasper soon. He’s always hyped up after a sleepover, and then we’re going shopping for some new clothes.”
I can’t help but smile at the thought of Jasper, his shy grin so much like Chloe’s. “Sounds like a full day.”
She laughs, and it’s a melody that has become my favorite tune. “Never a dull moment with a seven-year-old.”
The conversation meanders, easing into a silence that feels like home. I watch her, this woman who’s mastered the art of motherhood and career with an effortless grace that leaves me in awe. The idea of doing this—breakfast, small talk, shared glances—every single day with Chloe sends a warmth through my chest that rivals the sunbeams spilling across our table. The only thing that could make this better is if Jasper was here with us.
“Hey, don’t worry about cleaning up,” I say as we finish, standing to collect our dishes. “I’ve got it covered.”
“Are you sure?” She bites her lip, a hint of guilt in her green eyes.
“Positive. You should go so you can get ready and pick up Jasper. Besides, I want to visit the center today.” I usher her gently toward responsibility. “I’ll call an Uber for you.”
