Page 62 of It's Always Us

“It’s all going to be ok,” he whispers, kissing my temple.

When he says it, it seems possible.

My stomach rumbles, and my hunger drowns everything else. “Mark,” I whisper. “I need food.”

He pulls away. “Shit. When was the last time you ate?” He sits up as if it’s an emergency, holding his arm close.

“I don’t know, but this baby might be eating my insides.”

He climbs out of bed, and I can’t stop my eyes from taking in the full view. Mark stands only in his boxer briefs, tugging on gym shorts one-handed, his other arm slung across his body. His lean muscles bend and contract with his movement.

A mischievous smirk takes over his mouth when he catches me, and I promise he flexes his abs, that dark writing on his ribs causing my heart to squeeze tight.

One black eyebrow hitches upward. “Like what you see?”

I throw a pillow at him and miss. “Not even a little, you punk.”

He steps closer, leaning down so close I can see every hue of brown that makes up his dark eyes. His lips hover above mine, and I. Can’t. Move. His eyes trace over my face, and it would be so easy to close the inch between us. The weight of years of longing rests on me, but the magnitude of everything we stand to lose holds me back.

His eyes flick to my lips and the intense heat I see causes a similar wave to roll up my spine.

“Liar.” That cocky grin returns, and he grabs my hand, pulling me up with him. “Come on. I’m making you breakfast so we can feed our baby.”

I tug him to a stop. “You’remaking me breakfast?”

He turns to face me, slipping his arm around me and pulling me against him. My hands slide around his back, and his skin is warm and smooth.Damn him and his playfulness. “Baby, one of the things that’s changed in the time we’ve been apart is I’ve become an excellent cook.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

He smiles. “It’s just one of the many talents I’ve discovered that I’m looking forward to sharing with you, but given my current one-armed state, I’ll let you help.”

I roll my eyes. “Good to see your confidence has remained intact.”

He laughs and takes my hand, linking our fingers as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear on our short journey to the kitchen, but I like it . . . a little too much.

In the kitchen, Mark pulls out a toaster and then opens and closes cupboards, pulling out pans and plates while I watch.

He starts singing, and I smile, taking him in. This Mark is exactly the same, but can clearly work a kitchen, even with an arm tied down. He catches me watching and winks. My empty stomach leaps and twirls.

This guy.Ugh. Somebody help me.

We work side-by-side, him stirring the eggs and me doing all the non-cooking duties. In minutes, I have a plate with toast and eggs and a glass of orange juice.

I take a bite, and a moan escapes my lips.

“That good, huh?” He smiles, slipping onto a stool beside me at the enormous marble-topped island separating the kitchen from the living room.

I bump his good shoulder with mine. “So good, or I’m that hungry.”

He rolls his eyes, and we eat in silence while I shovel every last bite into my mouth. As I slow my binge, I take a moment to check out his space, including a sliding glass wall leading to a pool, hot tub, and small yard. The sun and blue sky filter in as the leaves on the palm tree sway gently in the breeze. All of it reminds me of how far I am from home.

Mark finally breaks the silence, and his tone is less playful than it was minutes ago.

“How long can you stay?” His question is filled with hesitancy, and we’re back to reality.

“My flight is this afternoon.” I knew this would be hard, but the words are like glass in my throat.

“Cancel it.”

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