His side of the bed was neat, as if he’d pulled the covers up to keep me warm, and I swung a leg into the space where he’d slept—the sheets were cool. He’d been up for a little while.
Nick didn’t have a clock up here, and I’d left my phone downstairs, so I had no idea what time it was. Judging from the light coming in through the huge windows downstairs, it was probably mid- morning.
I used the bathroom and wandered downstairs, feeling oddly nervous when I rounded the corner into the kitchen. Last night had been crazy, but I didn’t regret a moment of it. Did he? Should I be prepared to blow it off? Laugh it off? Or would it be awkward— what if he apologized?
Four words went through my head.
This was a mistake.
I walked into the kitchen on wobbly legs.
“Good morning, cupcake.” Nick, electric mixer in hand, walked over and kissed my head. Barefoot, he wore jeans and a plain, clean white t-shirt. His hair was neat and damp. “I’m glad you’re up. I have to finish the frosting and I didn’t want the noise to wake you.
There’s coffee there. Cups are in the cupboard above.”
“OK. Thank you.” I smiled at him, grateful there didn’t seem to be any weirdness between us. On the contrary, this felt easy and natural…was that any less worrisome? Tugging my bottom lip between my teeth, I poured myself a cup of coffee and glanced at the clock on the oven. Not quite eight. “I’m surprised you’re up so early.”
“Me? I’m always up early. All those mornings I had to be at work at five AM, I guess.”
I sipped my coffee as he plugged the mixer in near the stove. “That’s right. I’d forgotten about your days as a short order cook.”
“Not very glamorous, but I had to pay for college somehow. Not all of us could send the bills home to Mom and Dad.”
Stiffening, I debated a sharp-tongued defense of myself, but decided against it. Instead I brought my coffee cup to my lips and vowed to be the bigger person. I patted his shoulder blade. “You made it look good, darling.” The mixer came on with a whir and I peeked around him at the white mixture he was beating in some kind of two-layered pot.
“What is that thing?”
“It’s a double boiler. You have to mix this frosting over heat.”
“Jeez, that cake is a lot of work.”
“It is. But it’s worth it.”
“Good things always are.” Setting my coffee cup on the island, I picked up my phone and noticed I had a text from my real estate agent. “Ooh, we can see the house at ten forty-five,” I told him, raising my voice to be heard over the noise at the stove.
“Perfect. That will give me time to frost the cake and cook you breakfast before we go. Still like bacon and eggs?”
“I like bacon and anything. But don’t feel like you have to make a big meal. We might be a little rushed, and I still need to take a shower.”
“I do too.”
“Really? You look like you already took one. OK, well what about if I get in now, you finish the frosting, then you can shower, and we can just grab a bagel somewhere on our way to the house?”
“I’ve got a better idea. I’ll finish this, and while it cools, I’ll make breakfast. We can shower together, saving time and conserving water, and I’ll frost the cake while you dry your hair.” He flashed me a grin over his shoulder. “How does that sound?”
I laughed, my stomach turning somersaults at the idea of a shower together. So it’s still on for today. “Resourceful and environmentally conscious. Very impressive.”
He nodded, turning off the heat under the pan. “Babe, I’m a fucking model of efficiency.”
#
Despite all the sex we’d had last night, I still hadn’t seen Nick completely naked, a fact I realized when I stood staring at him through the glass door of his shower. The sight of him in there wetting his hair, eyes closed, the water running down his long, lean body, cascading over all his tattoos, dripping off his firm, round muscles, nearly brought me to my knees. Immediately I felt self-conscious of my soft curves, especially since I’d just eaten Nick’s equivalent of the Grand Slam at Denny’s. God, why did I have to eat that last slice of bacon? I knew I’d had enough but it was just sitting there in the pan, all lonely and crunchy and delicious. I couldn’t walk away.
Nine days out of ten, I was perfectly happy with my body—I was healthy and shapely and felt beautiful in my skin. But on that tenth day, I suffered self-criticism just like all women do, no matter their size. Even Mia, who never struggled with weight, had things she disliked about her body.
“What are you doing?” Nick pushed open the glass door. “Get in here.”
Flustered at being caught staring, I twisted my hands together in front of my stomach. “I’m being nervous.”
He gave me an incredulous look. “About what?”
“About my body.”
“For fuck’s sake, Coco. You can’t be serious. You have the most knockout body I’ve ever seen.”
“But you’ve been around all those Hollywood types. Those girls are so skinny and—“
“Fake. Most of them are nothing but fake and I like real. I like curvy. I like you.” He reached for my arm and pulled me into the shower. “Now come here.” He moved so I could stand under the hot water and watched as I wet my hair. While my eyes were closed and my arms over my head, he lowered his mouth to one breast and brought his hand to the other. “I can’t believe,” he said between kisses that made my nipples stand at attention, “that you think I’d prefer any body in the world to yours.” He lifted both breasts in his hands, sucking on one pebbled tip and then the other while I stretched languorously, reaching high above me, feeling lithe and desired.