Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mia
My sleep is deep and filled with dreams. Most, I can’t hang onto. The one I find myself immersed in before waking is filled with Beck.
The sexy neighbor I’ve crushed on forever.
The guy I’ve avoided for the past seven years out of self-preservation.
Dreams and memories intertwine until they become one. I can’t remember if he touched me last night or if it was all part of a delicious fantasy. Once I’m able to shake the last dregs of sleep, I stretch my limbs as the memories from last night crash down on me.
Beck climbing through the window.
Running a bath and stripping me bare.
Making me a cup of tea.
Orgasming.
Drying me off and carrying me to bed.
And then falling asleep in his arms.
I roll to my side only to find the space next to me vacant. Not only is the bed empty, the sheets are cold to the touch, meaning Beck snuck out a while ago. Disappointment surges through me, threatening to swallow me whole. I flop onto my back and stare at the ceiling before tugging the sheet over my naked breasts.
Doubt creeps in at the edges and makes me question everything. Most of all, myself. More than anything, I want to believe in Beck. I want to believe that the pretty words he’s strung together mean something. That his feelings are real.
Like mine are.
Not wanting to dwell on those troubling thoughts, I throw off the covers. As I’m searching for pajamas, Beck walks through the door carrying two plates. I’m slammed with the realization that he didn’t pull a disappearing act.
The guy made breakfast.
Giddiness bubbles up in my chest like a geyser.
As soon as Beck sees me, a wide smile tips the corners of his lips. “Morning, sunshine. Sleep well?”
I rake a hand through my hair, knowing it’s in disarray. “Yeah, I did.” Probably because his arms were banded around me through most of the night.
He gives me a sexy little wink. “Me, too.”
Naked, I crawl back onto the bed and tuck the sheet under my arms before reaching for a plate. “Hope you don’t mind I made breakfast.”
Is that a joke?
I stare at the plate in surprise. Chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream and maple syrup. There’s also three slices of bacon and a hash brown patty. This is exactly what my perfect breakfast consists of.
Is this a coincidence?
Questions dance in my eyes.
His lips lift as he points to the plate. “All of your favorites.”
It takes effort to clear my throat along with the emotion that has become wedged in there. “I noticed.” I shake my head, trying to get a handle on the situation. “How did you know?”
“Remember when our families used to go out for brunch together?”
Of course, I do. Picking out a dress for our Sunday morning get-togethers was agonizing. I usually ended up changing my outfit a bazillion times. Even though I swore up and down that I wasn’t dressing with Beck in mind, that’s exactly what I was doing.
“That was a long time ago,” I murmur, mind cartwheeling.
“You ordered the same thing every time.” His eyes darken to a deeper shade of green. “And you’d make these cute little noises deep in your throat when you ate the pancakes.”
Heat slams into my cheeks because he’s not wrong. I love chocolate chip pancakes, especially when drenched in whipped cream and syrup.
Yummy.
“I always looked forward to brunch with your family.” His grin turns wicked. “Watching you devour your pancakes gave me major wood.”
It’s official—my face is on fire.
I can’t believe he felt that way.
“Don’t look so shocked.” He taps the tip of my nose with his index finger and smirks. “It’s always been you, Mia.”
I never realized. Girls have been chasing after Beck since seventh grade. How was I even on his radar?
“I forgot something in the kitchen.” He sets his plate on the nightstand. “Be right back.”
Before I can open my mouth, Beck disappears through the doorway and into the hall.
Now that he’s gone, I suck in a deep breath and try to wrangle all of my emotions back under control. But it’s not easy. Every time I think I have a grasp on Beck, he does something that blows me out of the water.
He’s not the guy I thought he was.
How can that be?
How could I have been so wrong about him?
I focus on my plate and use the side of my fork to cut through the fluffy pancakes. Chocolate oozes from where I’ve sliced through the stack. Beck saunters into the room with two glasses of orange juice.
My fork stalls midway to my mouth as I stare.
What’s this guy trying to do to me?
He stumbles to a halt. “Is something wrong?”
Beckett Hollingsworth made me pancakes.
And a hash brown.
And bacon.
And brought me orange juice.
How could anything possibly be wrong?
It’s all too right.
I shake my head and shove the forkful of warm fluffiness into my mouth before I say something I might regret. A soft moan escapes as my eyelids flutter shut. The pancakes practically melt in my mouth. Once I swallow them down, I open my eyes. “They’re delicious. Thank you.”