What helped with this unusual calm and acceptance of such intimacy was the knowledge that this wasn’t a real relationship and Retta was still hung up on her ex-boyfriend. There’d be no attachments on either side at the end of this. Or at least that’s what he told himself as he drifted off to sleep, breathing in the lingering perfume on her skin.
In the morning, Duncan woke up to Retta’s warm body pressing up against his and her long limbs entangled in the sheets. He ran kisses down her exposed arm, loving the way she leaned into his touch, even in sleep. Dragging himself out of bed, he took a shower and got ready for the day. When he returned to his room, he found her sitting on the edge of the bed scrolling through her phone with the sheet around her torso and her hair in disarray.
“You don’t mind if I borrow some clothes, do you?” she asked, nodding to her rumpled dress in the corner.
He grinned. “Pick whatever you want.”
“How magnanimous,” she said as she stood up, pulling the bedding with her.
God, it had only been a few hours, but seeing Retta draped in white fabric like some Grecian goddess had him wanting to drag her back to bed.
“If you like that,” he said, advancing toward her. “You’ll be pleased to know I’m making breakfast,andthere’s an unused toothbrush in the left drawer in the bathroom.”
She took a step forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks.”
Forget what they’d done all night, that gesture left him feeling light and peppy. Once she disappeared into the bathroom, he moved to the kitchen to start a simple breakfast.
“I think you win the Who Wore It Better contest,” Retta said after she reemerged thirty minutes later, showered and in his T-shirt and shorts.
“Not even close.”
They probably would’ve stood there staring at each other for a while if the toast hadn’t sprung from the toaster, pulling them out their weird trance.
Retta relieved him of a plate of scrambled eggs and found a spot on the high stools at his counter. “What would you be doing today if—”
“If I wasn’t catering to you?” he asked, bringing along the toast and condiments.
“Please,” she said, reaching for the hot sauce.
Chuckling, he said, “I probably would’ve gone for a run, taken a shower, then headed to the gym to do some work.”
She nodded. “Sounds like what I expected.”
“I see you waking up early as you usually do and painting,” Duncan said, taking a large bite from the toast he’d smashed avocado on.
She stilled. “How do you know that?”
He shrugged. “You told me that you wanted to pursue painting when you were younger. I assume you still enjoy it.”
“I do,” she said, smiling.
They ate in silence for a little before she said, “Oh, did you get my email about the wedding weekend?”
“I saw it,” he said. “We’re staying at your grandmother’s place, right?”
“Yes, and I can’t stress enough how important it is for you to call her Ms. Edie or ma’am. She hates when people who aren’t her actual grandchildren call her Granny or Grandma.”
“Don’t worry, older women love me.”
Retta shook her head so hard that he thought her glasses would fall off her face. “My grandmother isn’t the press-you-to-her-bosom type of lady. She’s sometimes cranky, doesn’t know a cookie recipe, and she’ll tell you what she feels without provocation.”
She sounded like Anthony.
“Got it,” he said.
After they’d finished and cleared their breakfast, Duncan got his wallet and keys. “I need to drop something off at my dad’s place. It’s on the way. It’ll take seconds.”
“That’s okay,” Retta said.
