Page 146 of The Perfect Love

“It seemed like a pancake morning. I’ve made blueberry, chocolate chip, some with extra vanilla and sprinkles, and classic ones.”

“Comfort food.”

“The best kind.” She turns her head slightly, brushing her lips over mine. Then she flips both pancakes on the griddle in front of her, sets the spatula down and spins in my arms. “How are you doing?”

I hold her close, breathing in her sugary, coconut scent. “A little better.”

“You seem it. A little less weight on you, at least.”

“I think I need to go to therapy.”

Her brows lift and she smiles softly. “Yeah?”

“There’s a lot I haven’t processed. And maybe trying to take on the world doesn’t help with that.”

She shakes her head. “Not so much. It’s okay to have trauma, but it’s better when you work through it. I told Hyla yesterday not to let the darkness win. We shouldn’t either. I keep up on therapy because it helps me with that. If it’s something you’re ready to do, I think it’ll help you too. Just make sure you’re doing it for you, not for anyone else.”

“It’s for me. I want to feel better. You say my grumpiness is all an act, but it’s not always. Not inside, at least. Sometimes I feel like Eeyore on the inside.”

She runs her hand over my cheek. “You are kind of like Eeyore sometimes. That’s fine. I can be your silly Winnie the Pooh and make you smile.”

“I don’t think Eeyore and Winnie the Pooh were sexually involved.”

She laughs, big and beautiful. “I’m sure there’s a fanfic for that.”

“Two cartoon characters having sex?”

She pats my cheek. “Oh, my sweet summer child.”

“I take it back. Those are the people who need therapy.”

“Hey, bookish rules here. We don’t yuck someone else’s yum.”

“This conversation has taken a turn.”

She shrugs. “Add it to things to unpack in therapy.”

In a quick motion, she balances both pancakes on her spatula, opens the oven door, and sticks them inside, then turns the burners off.

“I found maple syrup, chocolate syrup, jam, whipped cream, and Rainbow Chip frosting. Think that’s enough pancake fixings?”

“I think that’s enough for a sugar coma.”

“You need lots of sugary sweet energy for today. I’m going to drop you off at the hospital, then head home to grab some moreclothes. Currently not wearing underwear because I forgot to pack some—”

“Not a problem for me.” I wiggle my brows at her, feeling lighter and a little more like myself.

“You’re trouble.”

“Always.” I lift her onto the counter and step between her legs. “I love you, and I’m insanely grateful to have you. You’re the reason I got through yesterday. Thank you for being here.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d be. You must know that by now. I’m kind of obsessed with you, book boyfriend.”

Even though it’s our running joke, I’m too lost in gratitude to laugh. Instead, I lean in closer, capturing her lips in a raw, passionate kiss. Not one meant to lead anywhere, but to show her the depth of my feelings—my gratitude and love for her.

And as she kisses me back, fingers curling in my hair, a sense of home sweeps over me. Not because of this house, but because of her. I lose myself in kissing her and my shoulders relax. Everything tight inside me eases, and for this moment at least, I let myself believe everything will be okay.

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