"Perfectly," I answer, and I mean it.
I wake to sunlight streaming through the windows and the scent of coffee and bacon. Alder's side of the bed is empty but still warm. Wrapping myself in one of his T-shirts, I paddownstairs to find him in the kitchen, wearing only loose shorts, flipping pancakes on the griddle.
"Morning, beautiful," he says, sliding a mug of coffee across the counter to me.
"Morning," I reply, accepting the mug gratefully. Gordie trots over to greet me, his whole body wiggling with excitement.
"He's already been out," Alder says, nodding toward the dog. "Chased three squirrels and lost every time."
"Poor baby," I coo, scratching behind Gordie's ears. "Those mean squirrels don't play fair."
The domesticity of the moment strikes me—Alder cooking breakfast, Gordie at my feet, mountain sunshine spilling across the wooden floors. Six months ago, I wouldn't have believed this could be my life.
"So," Alder says, sliding a plate of pancakes in front of me, "I was thinking we could hike up to the ridge today. The view is incredible, and there's a little mountain pond for swimming if we get hot."
I sip my coffee, watching him move confidently around the kitchen. "Sounds perfect. Though I can't promise to keep up with your athlete pace."
"I like going at your pace,” he says with a suggestive wink that makes me blush despite everything we've done together.
We eat breakfast discussing practical matters—the upcoming season schedule, my mother's impending first visit to meet the Stags, and my role in helping to interview sports psychologists for the Fury staff. The conversation flows easily, punctuated by Gordie's attempts to score fallen bits of bacon.
After we finish eating, I stand to help clear the dishes. We work side by side at the sink, Alder washing while I dry, our hips occasionally bumping in the comfortable choreography we've developed.
"This is nice," he says quietly, handing me a clean plate.
"The ski house?" I ask.
"All of it. Being here with you. Waking up together. The normal, everyday stuff." He rinses a glass, his expression thoughtful. "I never had this with Adam. He always kept me at a distance, emotionally and physically."
I set down the dish towel, turning to face him fully. "I know what you mean. With Brad, everything felt like a transaction. What could I do to earn his approval and his attention? It was exhausting."
Alder turns off the water, drying his hands before taking mine. "Thank you for taking a chance on us. On me. I know it wasn't easy with the team policies and everything."
"Best risk I've ever taken," I say honestly.
He cups my face with one hand, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. "I need you to know that this isn't temporary for me. I'm in love with you, Lena."
Though we've been living together for weeks and shared our bodies and lives, neither of us has said those words directly until now. Hearing them sends a cascade of emotions through me—joy, relief, and a lingering hint of fear that I push aside.
"I love you too," I say, the words coming easier than I expected. "So much that it terrifies me sometimes."
He leans his forehead against mine. "What terrifies you about it?"
"Loving someone means they have the power to hurt you," I admit. "And I've been hurt before."
"Me too," he says softly. "But I'm not going anywhere, Lena. I'm all in."
"I'm all in, too," I whisper, meaning it with every fiber of my being.
Alder lifts me onto the counter, stepping between my thighs as he kisses me deeply. My arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, heat building between us rapidly.
"I love how you feel," he murmurs against my neck. "Every curve, every inch of you."
His hands slide under my shirt, spanning my waist, and I lean into his touch, lost in the sensation.
We're so absorbed in each other that we don't hear the front door open. It's only when Gordie suddenly barks in excitement that we break apart, turning toward the sound.
And there, standing in the doorway with wide eyes and dropped jaws, are Odin, Thora, Gunnar, and Emerson, arms laden with grocery bags and coolers.
