Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Didn’t matter. I was going to tell him now.
“It’s yours,” I whispered as Michael held me. I pressed the words into the hollow of his throat. “The baby is yours. I’ve never been with anyone else, it could only be yours.”
To my surprise, Michael didn’t seem all that shocked. Instead he just smiled down at me.
“I had a feeling that was the truth,” he whispered. There was no judgment in his face, only softness.
I fell asleep staring at his smile.
For the first time in months, I slept well. I slept feeling safe, and warm, and well taken care of. I didn’t wake up all night, tossing and turning. I felt properly tired, in the good way, and sated.
When I woke up, it was alone, but also to the smell of food. Bacon, and eggs, and vegetables frying.
I rolled over to see Michael in the kitchenette, making us breakfast. It looked like he was making omelets, and I grinned helplessly. He was just wearing his jeans from the night before and nothing else, wonderfully bare chested, and it was a hell of a sight to wake up to. I could see the broad, strong lines of his back, and all his firm muscles, and those strong arms that had held me so tenderly last night.
I wanted to wake up to that every morning.
I got up, sidling over to him, and wrapped my arms around him from behind. “Morning,” I said, kissing him on the back of the shoulder.
Michael turned halfway around, looping his arm around me. “Good morning, beautiful.” He kissed my nose. “Sleep well?”
“Mmm, yes, you?”
“Best sleep in months.” He turned completely, letting go of the spatula for a moment, then turned and scooted me towards the bathroom. “Go take a shower, relax, the food’ll be ready by the time you get out.”
I laughed, letting him manhandle me and getting into the shower. It felt good, warm water sliding down me, and I was tempted to call out to offer for him to join me, but I didn’t want to pull him away from his cooking.
God, I couldn’t even believe how fucking lucky I was to have met a guy like Michael. He wasn’t even sure that the baby was his but he was willing to raise the child anyway. To do that to comfort and look after me, and the kid, to give us both the best chance. That must mean that he has feelings for me, right?
I hoped so. I had never stopped loving him, not even for a second, and having him back in front of me again, in person, made it all come rushing back that much stronger. I didn’t exactly know how to tell him that, not yet. It felt like I was being painfully obvious, like he had to know from the way that I looked at him, the way I gravitated towards him like he was the planet and I was the moon.
But I couldn’t quite tell him. Not when I still had that little bit of niggling doubt. He obviously cared about me and was willing to do the right thing by me but I wanted to hear him say it. To hear him reveal those three little words.
Probably stupid of me. But I couldn’t deny it was what I wanted, needed, that final wall around my heart.
But I really, really did hope so.
I returned to the kitchen right as he was plating the food, serving me a delicious omelet with green peppers and onions, thick delicious strips of bacon on the side. I was glad that I’d gone shopping just the day before so he didn’t have to look in my fridge and see it empty. I felt a bit embarrassed already by this tiny studio apartment, I think I would have died of humiliation if he’d looked into the fridge of a chef and found nothing.
Michael gestured for me to sit down, and then served me the plate, winking at me. I could feel myself blushing. I felt… oh, I know it was probably ridiculous to say or to feel but I felt like a princess, getting served breakfast and taken care of, looked after.
My parents, of course, took care of me, I would never suggest that they didn’t. But I’d never dared to hope that a man would actually want to behave like this for me. Not to mention I was a very self-reliant person and I hated the idea of feeling helpless or like I had to be catered to, either because I was unable to take care of myself or because I was spoiled.
But with Michael doing it, it was like a privilege. Like he was honored to do this for me.
As we sat down and ate together, in comfortable, companionable silence, our knees brushing under the table… I wished that I could have this every morning.