I flipped pancakes in the pan, making breakfast for Jet and me. This is what I had missed—the deep contentment. The sentiment of being home. Last night had been long overdue. Not just the sex—though that had been unbelievable—but the intimate connection that had been missing from our six-year long-distance relationship. I grinned when Jet walked into my tiny kitchen only wearing his black boxer briefs. He took up a fourth of the room. And though his hair was a blue mess, and he yawned while scratching at the black morning stubble on his jaw, he couldn’t look any better to me. He was who I wanted to wake up to every morning. I merely needed the courage to say I was ready. “Morning,” he murmured, walking to stand behind me. His warm hands wrapped around my waist, pressing his muscled chest against by back, he bent, placing a light kiss on my cheek and peering at the food. “Mmm. Chocolate chip pancakes. Are you trying to spoil me?”
