Page 109 of Restore Me

Because that’s exactly what this is. Love. Can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t breathe without you, love. Your smile lights up my world, and your arms feel like home, love. I could stand here all day and watch you do the most mundane task without ever getting bored, love.

I am so fucking stupid and have set myself up for the heartbreak of a lifetime, love.

“I’ll have to get back to you.” Dom is saying into the phone, closing his computer, and shoving the papers in his hand back into a folder, all with his eyes on me. “Bye, Seb.”

He crooks a finger at me, beckoning me to him, and I don’t think he cares about what the person on the other end of the line—Seb? As in Sebastian Adler?—is saying because as soon as my feet start moving, he hangs up the phone and sets it down.

“Were you working?” I round the desk and slide onto his lap.

He pulls my legs up and drapes them over his hard thigh. I lay my head on his shoulder, pulling in a deep breath just to flood my nostrils with that spicy, masculine scent that’s uniquely him.

Warm fingers ghost over the bare skin of my legs. I was wearing yoga pants when I fell asleep on him, but he must have taken them off when he carried me to bed because he knows how much I hate sleeping in anything more than Eric’s old t-shirt and a pair of underwear.

“Just going over some permit applications.”

I press a kiss to his neck. “Are you ever going to tell me about this mystery project you’ve been working on?”

He sighs. “Eventually. I think I’ll need your expertise at some point.”

“Mhmm.” I sit up and smile at him. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you like working with me.”

“I love working with you. You’re my favorite interior designer.”

“You’re only saying that because I put out.”

Amusement shines in his eyes, but he doesn’t refute my statement as he brushes his nose over mine. Once again, that keen sense of deja vu hits me, layering on top of the dream still lingering at the edge of my mind. My eyes narrow as I try to hone in on the details, but they just won’t come.

Dom looks concerned as he searches my face. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head. “I just got the strongest sense of deja vu.”

No way am I mentioning the dream. This man has already seen enough of my crazy for one day. There’s no need to show him anymore.

“Deja vu?” He asks, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yes.” I roll my eyes when he lets it take over. “Sometimes when we’re together you’ll do something, like brushing your nose over mine, and I’ll just get this distinct, unshakable feeling we’ve done it before. Like we’ve lived that exact moment, but I just don’t know when or how. Do you ever feel that way?”

Just as suddenly as it appeared, the smirk goes away, replaced by a look I can’t quite discern. I stare at him, feeling awkward and confused by his silence and the sudden change in his mood. Finally, he shakes his head.

“No, can’t say that I have.” He tightens his hold on my waist, and it’s the only warning I get before he stands up and my feet meet the floor. A shadow of an emotion passes behind his eyes as he looks down at me. “Are you hungry?”

I nod slowly, examining him to try and determine where his head is. “I could eat, but I didn’t take anything out for dinner. Not that there was anything to take out. My fridge is disturbingly empty.”

The past few days have been nothing but cuddle-filled mornings and sex-filled evenings, and it hasn’t left me with a lot of time to do anything that doesn’t involve being around the man standing in front of me. We’ve spent every night holed up here, devouring each other and pretending nothing outside of the edges of my bed, and an array of food delivery apps, exists.

“Good thing I had some groceries delivered.”

Dom takes my hand and pulls me out of the office, leading me into the kitchen and gesturing for me to take a seat at the island. At some point, probably while I was sleeping, he managed to clear the countertop. Putting away my sketches, computer, and paperwork and leaving them in a neat stack with my phone on top.

“Thank you for cleaning up and ordering food.”

“You don’t need to thank me, angel.”

He doesn’t even look at me as he says it, and I tell myself not to read too much into it. Instead, I focus on studying the broad planes of his back and the way his muscles shift underneath the soft cotton t-shirt he’s wearing as he moves around.

But staring at him only makes the sinking feeling in my gut worse because I immediately notice the muscle in his jaw jumping as he starts to remove the skin from the salmon filets he’s just pulled from the fridge. I shift in my seat, feeling restless and awkward in my own kitchen.

“Do you need some help?”

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