Page 13 of If This Was a Movie

A bolt of heat runs through me because he definitely knows how I like it after last night.

“My coffee?” He nods, though there’s a glimmer in his eye like he knows what I was thinking. “Milk and one pump of almond, one pump of vanilla.” He laughs again, and I like how much he laughs, how he’s so open with everything. He doesn’t seem like the type to hide anything or try to act too cool to showemotion. “It’s what I order at Evergreen Brew, which, in my opinion, has the best coffee in the world.”

His smile goes wider, and he shakes his head. “Noted. Well, I can’t say I have that on hand, but I do have vanilla coffee creamer or just milk and sugar.

“Creamer would be great.”

He smiles wide before rolling over me, bracing his arms in the bed on either side of my face and doing a bit of a push-up until his lips press to mine. Once he’s clear of the room, just a pair of low-slung sweatpants on, I can’t help it: I take one of his fluffy pillows, put it over my face, and squeal into it, kicking my feet with glee and utter excitement.

“Do you have ingredients here, or is this a bachelor pad?” I ask ten minutes later, standing in his kitchen, a perfect cup of coffee in front of me.

After I had my moment, I hopped out of his bed, finger-brushed my teeth, and did some snooping in his bathroom, thankfully not finding anything but men’s products. Next, I checked the closet and dresser, both clear of anything but men's clothing. Once I determined the coast was clear, I slipped into the kitchen wearing a giant sweatshirt of his and my panties from the night before.

“What?” he asks, moving behind me and spinning me around to face him. His warm hand slides under the sweater to my waist, tugging me close. My chin tips up to look at him, a small smile playing on my lips that’s reflected on his face.

“I know you’re a single guy, but do you have ingredients to make food?” There’s a quick moment, a glimmer of disappointment or something similar in his eyes that I think I see, but it’s gone before I can identify it.

“Are you trying to cook for me?” I shrug. “It’s a snow day. Snow days need snowman pancakes.”

His smile goes wide, transforming into a grin. “Snowman pancakes?”

“Oh yeah. Snow days are for watching movies, pajamas, and snowman pancakes.”

“You don’t have any pajamas here,” he says, his fingers playing with the hem of his sweater I’m wearing.

“Are you complaining?”

He shakes his head. “Not even a little. What do you need for these snowman pancakes?”

“Uh, you know. Pancake ingredients, then powdered sugar, chocolate chips…bacon for a hat would be great.”

“A bacon hat?” he asks through a poorly disguised laugh.

“Or a scarf. Really depends on how you want to dress him up.”

He smiles and leans a bit to press his lips to mine before stepping back and moving toward the fridge. “Not sure if I have powdered sugar, but I definitely have.” There’s a pause as he grabs something out then turns to show me a can of whipped cream. “Will this work? We’ve definitely got the chocolate chips and the bacon.”

“I think we can make it work.”

He comes back to me, pulling me back into his arms and using a hand in my hair to tip my head back. He’s tall, maybe six foot to my five-five, and I like feeling small beside him. I don’t have much time before his lips touch mine, opening so his tongue slides along mine, tasting of mint toothpaste and dark coffee.

We don’t have pancakes for another hour, but when we do, they’re the best snowman pancakes I’ve ever had in my life.

“Favorite Christmas movie?” I ask from the kitchen island I’m sitting on while I watch Nate do the dishes. I’m in his oversized shirt and a pair of his boxer briefs that don’t quite fit. My hair is an absolute disaster, but something about the way he looks at me makes me feel hotter than I’ve ever felt in my skimpiest, sexiest outfit.

He smiles at me over his shoulder, a smile I feel in my lower half, but that also tells me whatever he’s about to say is going to earn an eye roll.

“Die Hard.”

My jaw drops as I gape at him. “You have got to be kidding me. That’s not a Christmas movie!”

“It so is,” he says, a laugh in his words.

“Just because it takes place during Christmas does not make it a Christmas movie,” I say with a laugh. His broad shoulders shrug as he rinses off a plate. I offered and even insisted on doing the dishes since he cooked, but he grabbed me by the hips, placed me on the counter, placed a kiss to my lips, and told me to just keep him company.

He seems to like having me up here.

Strangely enough, considering I like to always keep busy, I don’t mind.

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