I fall asleep on the couch and wake up in Blake's bed.

He's behind me, his arm resting on the curve of my waist.

It's so different than last time I was with him. When I woke up alone, I felt cold and empty.

Right now, I'm warm. The whole fucking world is warm.

My eyes flutter closed. One more minute to feel his arms around me.

I do my best to slide off the bed without waking Blake. He looks peaceful with his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling slowly.

I creep to the bathroom and brush my teeth. There's a sound in the bedroom. Then footsteps. He knocks softly.

I mumble a come in.

He does. His hair is actually messy. And he actually looks tired.

My lips curl into a smile.

His eyes fix on me. "What's that for?"

I spit out a mouthful of toothpaste. "For you."

"I make you happy?"

"Sometimes."

"I want to make you happy."

I turn to the sink and rinse my mouth. I don't know what to do with his words.

He moves closer. Waits until I'm standing then wraps his arms around me.

I bury my head in his chest. He runs a hand through my hair.

It's warm.

Comfortable.

"Relax. I'll make breakfast," he says.

"You make things?"

"I do."

"You? Not your assistant or a cook or a maid?"

He chuckles. "You're verging on insulting."

"You get insulted?"

"Only by people I care about." He reaches for his toothbrush. "I make an amazing breakfast. You'll eat those words."

"Or will I be too busy eating the delicious food?"

He laughs. "That's a terrible joke."

"That's why it suits you." I take a step backwards. "No offense."

"It's good to know your strengths and weaknesses." He turns back to the sink.

I slink to the main room, grab my sketchbook, and plop on the couch. I need to capture all the thoughts racing around my head. First, the funeral. Six panels. Starting with a closed casket. It's a little obvious, but it's necessary.

Then Blake, sitting in a cheap chair in his expensive suit, his eyes on the floor, his expression miserable.

And me, behind him, considering coming up to him.

A point-of-view shot of him standing.

Him at the podium.

The words She was everything.

"I like you lost in thought." Blake leans in to plant a kiss on my lips.

He tastes like mint toothpaste.

"Aren't you used to it?" I ask.

"I still like it." He takes a step towards the kitchen. "You want coffee?"

"Yes please."

He moves into the kitchen. I turn back to my drawing.

Slowly, the smell of java fills the room. That French roast with vanilla. The one he was drinking after the pool. I can't even smell vanilla without thinking about it.

I try putting last night into a panel, but I don't know where to start. At the diner? The drive here? My body pressed against his on the couch?

How can I put all my feelings about him into four or ten or even a hundred panels?

The smell of red peppers and olive oil fills the room.

I give up on work and move into the kitchen.

Blake pushes vegetables around a pan. He cracks eggs in a clean plastic bowl, whisks them, pours them in the pan.

He is a good cook.

At least if the smell of that omelet is any indication.

He turns back to me. Runs his fingers through my hair. Looks down at me like I'm the secret to all the happiness in the world. "Cream and sugar?"

"Please." I rise to my tiptoes to kiss him. This is so normal. So domestic. So sweet.

It's perfect.

He fills two mugs and adds just enough cream and sugar to one.

I steal the coffee from him and take a long sip.

It's perfect.

And it makes me think of him. Of vanilla on his lips. I get lost in my mug. And my thoughts. It's been less than two months, but it feels like it's been forever. Was it really me who ran into Blake? It feels like she was another person entirely.

"Here." Blake sets a plate in front of me. An omelet, avocado, two dozen raspberries.

"Thank you." I take a seat at the counter. This smells like heaven, but I force myself to dig in slowly.

Mmm. Fluffy eggs. And they're fresh. I didn't even know eggs could taste fresh.

The peppers are crunchy. The tomatoes are sweet.

"I admit it. You're a good cook." I shovel another bite of omelet into my mouth.

Blake sits next to me. He takes a patient bite.

His eyes pass over me.

I try to slow down.

"You don't have to do that." He sips his coffee. "I like you messy."

I wipe my mouth with a napkin. "That's hard to believe." I motion to the perfectly clean apartment.

"Who says I want it that way?"

"Twenty bucks. It says you spend plenty to keep it this clean."

He chuckles. "True. But it's too clean. I've had too much of clean." He stares back into my eyes. "I've had too much of uncomplicated."

I swallow hard. "Oh?"

"You remember what I said that first night at my office?"

"That was a long time ago."

He brushes his thumb against my chin, wiping off a drop of coffee. "When you're with me, you won't want for anything."

Heat spreads through my body. I force myself to turn back to my breakfast. "I haven't." Mostly. There is one thing he can't give me, but Blake was always clear about love being out of the question.

I finish my eggs and coffee then get to work on the raspberries.

Blake watches me. He steals a berry off my plate and pops it into his mouth.

Ah, two can play that game.

I steal an orange slice off his plate and tear into it. Juice drips from my lips. Off my chin. Onto my chest.

Blake laughs. He catches the juice on his thumb and brings it to his lips.

He stares into my eyes as he sucks on the digit.

It shouldn't be sexy, but it is.

I slide off the stool and place my body in front of his.

He presses one hand into my lower back. The other slides through my hair.

He kisses me hard. Like he can't get enough.

No. It's not like.

He can't get enough.

I can't either.

I still can't say this with words. They've never been my strong suit.

But this—my body against his—I can say it like this.

I love you.

Be mine.

Be mine forever. For real. For everything.

I tug at his t-shirt. I slide my tongue into his mouth.

It isn't enough.

I need more.

I need everything.

Blake shifts off his stool. He presses his body against mine.

Everything in me relaxes.

This is exactly where we're supposed to be. Domestic bliss and sex and love and everything. In his kitchen. In the apartment that can be ours. In a life that can be ours.

He slides his hands under my ass and lifts me onto the kitchen island.

I wrap my legs around him.

He pulls my tank top off my head.

No teasing today. He brings his hands to my breasts and rubs my nipples with his thumbs.

He's giving me what I need.

I kiss him harder.

Arch my back to rub my crotch against his.

I comb my fingers through his hair, holding his head against mine, letting everything pour from me to him.

When he breaks our kiss, I'm shaking.

I pull his t-shirt over his head. "Now. Please."

He nods as he tugs at my pajama bottoms.

I place my hands behind my back, lifting my hips so he can get them off my ass.

They fell to my knees. My ankles.

I kick them off my feet.

He steps out of his bottoms.

We're naked in the kitchen.

But I don't feel exposed.

I feel seen. Like somehow I'm getting both versions of Blake.

Like maybe we can understand each other this well all the time.

I dig my hands into his hair and pull him into a kiss.

He brings his hands to my hips and guides me into position.

His cock strains against me.

Slowly, he enters me.

Fuck.

Heat floods my body.

But it's more than desire. I'm one with him. With him and not with the sex-crazed animal. This is the Blake with the sad blue eyes and the heart-stopping laugh and the tendency to pull away.

He's mine.

And I'm his.

And it makes sense.

The world makes sense.

He kisses me back.

I rock my hips in time with his. Taking everything he has to give me. Offering everything I have to give him.

Almost…

There.

With his next thrust, I come. My sex pulses around him. I dig my nails into his skin, pulling him closer, making him mine.

He groans back against my mouth.

He pulls me closer as he thrusts into me.

Then he's there, holding me tightly as he pulses inside me.

Mine.

We stay pressed together for a long, long time.

And it really is perfect.

Like I'm exactly where I belong.