Page 84 of Redeeming Melodies

Something like home.

In Elliot’s kitchen,Everything was warm wood and ocean views, and the quiet felt comfortable instead of empty. His fancy coffee maker hummed to life - thing probably cost more than my first car, but it made a hell of a cup.

Mom used to say you could tell everything about a person by their kitchen. I wondered what she'd make of this one - all that shiny chrome mixed with rustic charm, just like the guy sleeping upstairs. Professional and polished on the surface, but real underneath where it counted.

The fridge was stocked better than I expected. Eggs, bacon, proper English sausages - Zayn's influence probably. Mom's voice echoed in my head, teaching me the proper order: sausages first, then mushrooms, everything timed just right for a proper English breakfast.

"Something smells amazing."

Elliot's voice caught me off guard, but his arms sliding around my waist felt natural as breathing. His chin hooked over my shoulder, still warm from sleep.

"Didn't mean to wake you."

"Mmm." His lips found my neck. "Worth waking up for. Didn't know you could cook like this."

"Mom's recipe." The words came easier than expected. "Used to make this every Sunday. Said proper English breakfast could solve any problem."

His arms tightened slightly. "Tell me about her?"

"She's" My hands stayed steady on the spatula, but my voice caught. "She has good days and bad days now. Dementia's taking more than it leaves behind."

"Jake." Just my name, but the way he said it held worlds of understanding.

"Was thinking." Flipped the mushrooms, focused on the task. "Maybe you could meet her? If you want. While she's still having more good days than bad."

His body went still against mine, and fuck, maybe it was too soon, maybe I was pushing too

"I'd like that." His voice came soft but certain. "If you're sure?"

Turned in his arms, needed to see his face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He smiled, morning stubble catching light. "Though fair warning - parents tend to hate me on principle."

"Mom'll love you." The certainty surprised me. "She always said I needed someone who'd call me on my bullshit."

His laugh filled the kitchen. "That what I do?"

"Among other things." Pulled him closer, because I could now. Because this was allowed. "Speaking of which"

The kiss tasted like toothpaste and possibility. His hands found my hips, steady and sure, and fuck if this wasn't exactly what I wanted every morning to feel like.

"Careful." He pulled back just enough to smirk. "You'll burn breakfast."

"Worth it."

"Nope." He stepped away, grinning at my protest. "I'm starving, and this smells too good to waste. Feed me first, then we can discuss other appetites."

"Tease."

"You love it."

The words hung between us, playful but weighted. Because yeah, maybe I did. Maybe I was falling harder than I ever expected, faster than should be possible.

"Here." Handed him a plate instead of saying something I wasn't ready to voice. "Make yourself useful and set the table."

We moved around each other like we'd done this forever, like my heart didn't skip every time our hands brushed. Like this domestic morning shit wasn't everything I never knew I wanted.

"Holy fuck." His first bite of breakfast made his eyes close. "Okay, your mom was onto something here."

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