Page 220 of From Rivals to I Do

As the car glides towards our new home, the landscape changes, buildings fading into suburban sprawl. I hold Henry a little tighter, feeling the steady

beat of his heart against mine.

Chapter nine

Chapter Nine

As the first rays of morning sunlight filter through the curtains, I slowly awaken, my senses gradually returning to consciousness. A gentle warmth

spreads through my chest as I become aware of the presence beside me. I turn my head, and there she is, Maya, peacefully slumbering, her features

softened by the gentle light. A soft smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I take in the sight, feeling an overwhelming sense of contentment wash over

me.

The memory of last night lingers in my mind, the intimate connection we shared. It was our first time, a culmination of emotions and desires that had

been building between us. It felt like we had won the lottery, not in the monetary sense, but in the priceless intimacy and vulnerability we had discovered together.

I reach out my hand, my fingers delicately tracing the contours of Maya's cheek. The touch is featherlight, a silent expression of the tenderness that

swells within me. She stirs slightly, her eyelashes fluttering against her skin, and a soft sigh escapes her parted lips. The sight of her stirred by my touch

brings a surge of affection that fills the room, wrapping us in its embrace.

As Maya begins to awaken, her eyes flutter open, and she blinks away the remnants of sleep. Her gaze meets mine, and a shy smile dances upon her lips. "Good morning," she murmurs, her voice soft and melodic, like the first notes of a symphony.

"Mornin', sleepyhead," I reply, my voice a low rumble, rich with the depth of emotion that surges within me. I reach out to gently brush a strand of hair away from Maya's face.

She blinks and yawns. "Is it time to wake up already?"

I chuckle softly. "It is indeed. Rise and shine, love. Did you sleep well?"

She stretches languidly, her body gracefully arching against the sheets. "Like a dream," she replies, her voice tinged with a hint of playfulness. "What about you?"

I can't help but laugh, a warm sound that echoes through the room. "I slept better than I have in a long time," I confess, my gaze lingering on her face. "Having you here beside me... it feels like everything's falling into place."

Maya's smile widens, her eyes alight with affection. "I feel the same way," she admits, her voice filled with sincerity. "There's a sense of comfort, of belonging that I've never experienced before."

As Maya slowly sits up, a thought seems to strike her. She looks at me with a mix of confusion and concern. "Wait, where's Henry? Isn't he going to be late for school?"

I can't help but laugh heartily. "Maya, it's Saturday! No school today."

Embarrassment floods her expression, and she palms her face, letting out an embarrassed chuckle. "Oh, my goodness. I completely forgot what day it was. How silly of me."

I lean closer, planting a gentle kiss on her cheek. "Don't worry, we all have those moments. Let's get up and start the day, shall we?"

We freshen up, and with renewed energy, we make our way to the kitchen. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, mingling with the delightful scent of bacon sizzling in the skillet. Maya and I move about the kitchen, effortlessly finding our rhythm as we prepare breakfast together.

Maya stands at the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease. The sizzle and crackle of the batter hitting the hot surface fill the room, harmonizing with the soft melodies playing in the background.

I approach Maya and wrap my arms around her waist, planting a gentle kiss on her cheek. "You're a master pancake flipper," I tease, a mischievous glint in my eyes.

Maya giggles and playfully nudges me with her elbow. "Years of practice, my dear. But don't think you can escape your pancake-flipping duties. I'll need your help with the toppings," she responds, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

Chuckling, I release my hold on her and move to the countertop, where an array of toppings awaits. Berries, whipped cream, maple syrup—all the essentials for a mouthwatering pancake feast. As I gather the ingredients, Maya sets a plate of golden-brown pancakes on the table, their fluffy texture enticing and irresistible.

As the eggs crack against the edge of the bowl, their yolks blending into a smooth yellow river, Maya fondly nudges my arm. "Hey, Jackson, remember that time as kids when you and Kendrick tried making pancakes without a recipe?"

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