Page 146 of The Right Move

“And how much of that has been lying?”

She gives me a playful swat on my ass. “Shut it.”

I nod towards the computer screen once again.

“They’re a little boring,” she admits honestly. “I think they could use some color.”

I can’t help but smile at that. I knew my bright girl wouldn’t be all that into a black and white sneaker. “Of course, you do. What color are you thinking?”

She cranes her neck thoughtfully. “Maybe red, like your team colors.”

“Or blue?”

“Why blue? Red makes more sense than blue.”

Turning my head, my lips brush the top of her hair. “Because blue is quickly becoming my favorite.”

“Either one.” She shrugs, clearly not catching on. “Whatever you decide will look nice.”

She tilts, placing a single kiss on my upper arm before leaving me at the stove.

I stop her with a heavy hand wrapped around her waist, turning her into me again. Eyes bounce between one another because though we’ve shared breakfast in this kitchen countless times, today is different and we both know it.

With the need to make sure what happened last night continues outside of the bedroom, I thread my fingers into her golden hair, tugging to tilt her head back.

“Good morning,” I rasp before pressing my mouth to hers, tasting the toothpaste on her tongue.

Drunken and loose, she melts into my side. “You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted you to kiss me over breakfast.”

So I do just that, again and again until the veggie omelets I made are ready.

She pulls her coffee from the fridge, adding one of the atrociously sweet creamers. “Maybe it’s acts of service. That could be your love language. Every morning you make sure my coffee is cold, so it doesn’t get watered down when I add ice. I’ve always noticed that.” She looks at me, cocking her head and speaking softly. “Thank you.”

Maybe she’s right. Maybe that is my love language because even though I could’ve easily bought cold coffee for the fridge, I like the smile I get to see when she pulls her cup out and realizes I made one for her.

At some point, I should probably tell her that my love language is whichever one she wants it to be so she can stop guessing. I’ll make sure that girl feels loved however she needs.

Taking a seat next to me, Indy slides a folder next to my plate.

“What is this?”

A heat rushes her cheeks. “Ignore this if I’m overstepping, but that day we went camping when you told me you wanted to start your own foundation, I couldn’t get it out of my head. You said it felt overwhelming, so I thought maybe I could help steer you in the right direction.”

Opening the folder, endless papers detail the ins and outs of a new nonprofit. Startup costs, fundraising projections, description, and a thorough marketing plan. Every detail is carefully thought out and organized, only needing a name to round out the comprehensive business plan.

The knowledge of what this is swells my throat, keeping me from speaking.

Indy continues for me. “We start small. A lot of these kids, they don’t have a place to go over the summers like they do during the school year. They don’t have school-provided meals either and I’d imagine, because of that, maybe some kids don’t get to eat those days. So, what if we run a summer camp, something to keep them in a scheduled environment? We provide meals and a safe place to play.” She flips through the pages, but I’m not reading a word. I’m looking at her. “We get some of the outdoor courts around Chicago cleaned up. Your shoe deal includes sneaker donations. They have something to wear. As we grow, we move into the school year, creating after-school programs. Here’s my projection.” She motions towards a chart. “In five years, this is how many kids we should be able to help if this is the rate at which we grow.”

I stay silent, mesmerized by every single word that comes out of her mouth.

Nervousness and ingrained insecurities take over. She pulls her hands into her lap, leaving the folder on the kitchen counter. “Only if you want to, I mean. And it’s only a rough draft—”

I interrupt her with a searing kiss before her innate need to tone herself down comes into play. Her nerves melt away as she melts into me.

“You’re incredible,” I murmur against her lips.

“It’s nothing.”

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