Nova comes out of her room dressed in a pair of ripped jeans, a sweater, and her damp hair piled on her head.
Fucking perfection.
“God, this smells amazing.” She closes her eyes and inhales the scent with a dreamy smile.
She takes a seat, and I sit across from her.
She grabs the butter and slathers it on her waffle and then dumps a butt load of syrup on top of that.
“What?” she says when she notices me eyeing her.
I grin. “Nothing.”
She narrows her eyes, crinkling her nose. “That look does not say nothing.”
I nod at her plate. “You want some actual waffles with your syrup?”
She juts her chin in the air. “The syrup is what makes it good.”
I shake my head and add a little syrup to my waffles.
“Well, you’re just a fun sucker, aren’t you?” she jokes, eyeing my plate.
I lift my coffee cup, trying to hide my smile. “Maybe I don’t want to be a sticky mess.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m going to use a fork, not eat with my bare hands, so I doubt I’ll get sticky.”
“You’d be surprised.” I take a drink of coffee and set my mug down.
One of my favorite things to do with Nova—besides the obvious—is eat breakfast. Our morning chats have become like a lifeline to me. I can’t imagine not starting my day eating breakfast and drinking coffee with her. Those two weeks when she was pissed at me and wouldn’t talk were some of the worst times of my life in recent years.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks, eyeing me with a bite halfway to her mouth.
“You,” I answer honestly.
“What about me?” She balks.
I shrug. “Just thinking about us. This.” I wag a finger between us. “I like our routine.”
“Oh.” She straightens in her seat and wiggles a bit. “I like it too,” she admits.
“We’re good together, aren’t we?” I ask her. “Like … we just click.”
Her eyes twinkle like I’m so fucking amusing. “Yeah, we do.”
We finish breakfast and she insists on washing the dishes while I get ready.
It doesn’t take me long to shower and get dressed, and then we gather up the presents for our friends and head out.
“Confession, I love the rain,” Nova comments when we reach the lobby and look through the doors to the outside world. She smiles as she says it.
I chuckle. “Confession, I love the snow, which that rain is going to be soon when the temperature drops just a little more.”
She laughs. “Or it could be ice—a mix of our favorites together.”
I shake my head. “Ice fucking sucks. It’s clear and slippery. How’s that fun?”
She giggles, the sound of her laughter lighting up my whole world. “That sounds like the start of a bad dirty joke.