Page 66 of Things We Burn

So like I was practiced at doing, I shoved those thoughts away, those comments, those fears.

I let him sleep. Woke up and rode him—not before performing oral sex, an act I’d never enjoyed until Kane—then made us coffee and breakfast.

Normally, we’d go to the café and bakery on the corner to sit outside, despite the crispness to the air, to drink our coffee and eat our pastries. But not with Kane’s injuries and not with the paparazzi.

Ferris was running the errands I normally did for the restaurant, and it made my hands itch and pulse spike. I’d trained him for such things. He’d come with me on numerous trips so the restaurant wouldn’t burst into flames if I was ill or died suddenly.

Still, I was firing off text messages to him all morning, ensuring he was doing everything right. Which he was—I’d trained him well.

Then there was the act of being in an apartment with Kane with nothing to do. We’d had sex twice, and it was great and lasted a decent amount of time. And I was cooking breakfast and lunch, cleaning up afterward which killed time too. But even after all of that, I was left with an exorbitant amount of free time.

A cleaner came in once a week, so I couldn’t go and scrub toilets to keep my hands busy.

“Chef, relax. You’re giving me a heart attack with all that tension,” Kane instructed from the sofa, paperback in his hands. He’d already tried to convince me to go in to work, but I’d refused. Firmly. He’d relented, allowing me to cook, clean, care for him.

Until now.

“Relaxing is not something I’m trained to do,” I informed him.

He laughed. The sound was deep and throaty and oh so sexy. “Not many people need to be trained to do it, but I’ll consider it my honor.” He patted the sofa beside him.

I went to him, and he instantly pulled me into him, kissing my head and inhaling. “You smell like you, food and sex,” he hummed. “My favorite.”

I sank into him, enjoying the hardness and softness of his body, his own scent … for about a minute.

“What now?” I asked, tensing.

Kane laughed again. “There is nowhat nowwhen you’re relaxing. That’s the point.”

“Right,” I said, my voice strained. I waited another minute. “I don’t like it.”

Kane burst out laughing now, wincing at the full body shudders. I scowled at him, not liking him being in pain.

“This may take a few sessions,” he conceded.

“Or never,” I scoffed, trying to get up. Kane’s arms tightened around me.

“Where you goin’?” he asked into my hair.

“I’m making you a chocolate cake.”

“That’s not relaxing.”

I gave him a side-eye. “It is to me.”

He watched me for a moment, eyes dancing with amusement. “I’ll allow it, Chef.” He leaned in to kiss my nose.

I rolled my eyes, and he smirked, leaning back to go back to his book as I prepared to make the cake.

That filled in some time. Though the cake wasn’t overly difficult or extravagant, so it was already baked, chilled, frosted and eaten before we went to sleep, the dishes used to eat it on washed and put away.

Wiping some frosting off his lips, Kane said he needed to get out.

I’d tried to argue against that, since he’d just gotten out of the hospital, but Kane made it clear he wasn’t budging on this choice.

Though I was hesitant about the world outside, I sagged in relief.

“I’ll get my purse,” I practically jumped to my feet. “Where are we going?”

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