Kayden kindly brought me a cup of coffee, but when he saw me, he set it down and walked over. He cupped my face and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead before pulling me against him, which I did, leaning on his solid strength. I remember how comforting the steady sound of his heart was against my right ear. I vividly recall how he bent his head, and his lips rested against my hair. I also still remembered his whispered words, warm against the crown of my head. ‘Everything’s going to be fine. She’ll be okay. I’ll always be here to hold you like this.’
But he wasn’t. Two years later, I broke his heart in a most thorough manner. Then I spent the next eight years throwing myself into my work, so I didn’t have to think about my own shattered heart.
So, yeah. See what I mean about not sleeping? It’s pretty hard when you have every single good and bad memory of someone you don’t want to think about playing over and over through your gray matter all night. It’s like a freaking ghost of a sappy romance movie that never ends with the classic, cheesy, happily ever after.
Blurry eyed, with fuzz on my teeth and an ache in my heart, I get up and make myself a cup of coffee. I grind up the grounds, and when I take a sip, it’s basically like drinking liquid tar. Normally I’d dump it out and start over, but this time I just stumble to the fridge and add enough cream to try and combat the stomach-burning bitterness.
After that, I sit down at the small kitchen table. I have one of those galley-style kitchens that go straight across. It’s lined with cupboards on both sides, but the one side ends at the stove, and there was room for a table. It’s quite separate from the living room, and I enjoy that. There’s a huge window off to my right, which is basically my little corner of heaven. I can watch, through gauzy white curtains, everything that happens in the neighborhood at six in the morning. It’s mostly birds chirping and flying from branch to branch. Sometimes, I spot the neighbor’s cat, sauntering down the sidewalk, or someone leaving for work. The world feels peaceful and still and right.
That is until he walks out his front door and stops right in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Holy bajezuz,” I mutter, nearly spilling my coffee all over myself as I jerk in the wooden chair.
Kayden is shirtless, and he’s wearing gray sweats that hug the lowest regions of his hips. Every inch of his broad, delicious chest is on full display. He has this massive powerhouse of a body that still looks as good at thirty as it did at nineteen when we met. His shoulders are wide, his arms solid and bulging. His pecs are lickable, and his abs…well, let’s just say the entire neighborhood will probably line up to do their laundry on them after this. His delicious male V-part narrows down into those sweats.
I remember the feel of those abs and the taste of them—of all of Kayden. I remember the way his skin felt under my fingertips and all the smells—cologne, sweat, spice, darkness, light, raw, and fully man. Besides that, I also remember all of him pressed up against all of me. I remember our chemistry, which was wholly organic and real, and I remember how explosive it was between us.
Cluckaduck. Cluck on a duck. Cluck. Duck. Fuck.
I tear my eyes away and set my coffee cup down hard since I no longer trust my trembling hands to hold it. It doesn’t matter that I know all about where the V leads. I’ve seen the full package, literally. And I’m still just as affected as if I was seeing Kayden half-naked for the first time.
That bastard. He’s doing this on purpose.
I watch as Kayden goes through his warm-up stretches, then bounces on his heels. He’s putting on a real show out there before he finally sets off at a slow jog, which would still have me panting to keep up if I was out there.
Kayden did love his morning runs. I hated running, but back when we were together, he convinced me to join him a few times, and each time, I thought I was going to die. Kayden constantly looks like a fallen angel or a god or something. He was smart, witty, and funny, and he had it all, but he never made anyone feel like he knew it. That was his gift. He was somehow sweet beneath all those god-given gifts, and he never acted like he was better than anyone else.
“Ugh, duck this.” I grab my phone out of the pocket of the oversized plaid robe I’m wearing. My dad got it for me for Christmas a few years ago. It was technically a men’s size large robe when I could get away with a women’s small, but he’d taken the time to pick it out because he wanted to get me something, so I love it anyway. I just wrap the belt twice around myself, and it’s good to go.