I pull her up, tasting myself on her lips as I kiss her. She moans, no doubt tasting herself on my tongue. The kiss is messy and perfect, a blend of both of us that feels like coming home.
We lie there for a moment, catching our breath, when her stomach lets out an impressive growl.
"My cum not enough for you, Red?"
She snorts, smacking my chest. "That was just the appetizer. Coffee is the main course of any respectable morning."
I chuckle, dropping a kiss on her cheek before sliding out of bed. "One coffee coming up."
The morning light fills her loft as I pad to the kitchen, giving me a perfect view of her space. It's so uniquely Isabella—art supplies scattered about, splashes of color everywhere, the organized chaos of a creative mind.
My eyes land on a framed photo on the counter, and my heart clenches. Isabella and Evelyn, both smiling at the camera, paint smudged on their cheeks. It must have been taken in the garden, roses blooming behind them.
Warm arms wrap around my waist, soft lips pressing against my spine. "What's wrong?"
A sad laugh escapes me. "You always could read me too well." I touch the frame gently. "Seeing this... God, I hate that I can't apologize to her anymore. That I can't tell her how sorry I am for everything."
Silence falls between us, heavy with shared grief. Then, so quietly I almost miss it, "I need to visit their graves soon. Would you... would you like to come?"
I still, the weight of her invitation settling in my chest. "Do you go often?"
"At least once a month." Her cheek presses against my back, her arms tightening slightly. "Change the flowers, say hello. They're all there together—Mom, Dad, Gran. Side by side."
I turn in her arms, studying her face. She's wearing my shirt from yesterday, her hair a glorious mess, eyes soft with sleep and something deeper. Vulnerable. She's sharing something precious, letting me into this private part of her life.
"I'd like that." The words come out before I can overthink them. "Today? If you're comfortable with that?"
Her eyes widen slightly, like she didn't expect me to suggest going so soon. Then a small, sad smile touches her lips. "Yeah. Today would be good."
I cup her face, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Coffee first though?"
"God yes." She stretches up to peck my lips. "Can't face emotional moments without caffeine."
I watch her move around her loft, gathering clothes and mumbling about needing to buy flowers. The domesticity of the moment hits me hard—this is what I want. Mornings with her, sharing both the light moments and the heavy ones. Being part of her life, all of it, not just the easy parts.
The coffee maker beeps, and I pour two mugs, doctoring hers the way she likes it. Some things you don't forget, even after fifteen years. Like how she takes her coffee, how her eyes get distant when she thinks about her family, how my heart feels fuller just being in her space.
"Here." I hand her the mug, pulling her close with my free arm. "Whatever you need today, Red. I'm here."
She melts against me, taking a long sip before responding. "I know. That's what scares me most."
The honesty in her voice makes my chest ache. Because I understand—trusting someone again after they've hurt you? That's terrifying. But we're both here, both choosing this, choosing each other.
Some might say we're moving too fast. Hell, if this were anyone else, I might agree. But with Red? We've already lost fifteen years—stolen time we can never get back. And the way it feels when she's in my life... it's like discovering a dimension of existence I'd forgotten was possible. Colors seem sharper. Challenges feel more manageable. Even the mundane parts of my day hold unexpected moments of joy when I know I can share them with her later.
It's not that I can't function without her—I've proven I can exist on my own. It's that everything is better with her. Conversations have more depth. Silences carry meaning instead of emptiness. Problems that once seemed insurmountable now feel like puzzles we can solve together. It's like I've spent years breathing just enough to survive, and now, with her, I'm finally filling my lungs completely—experiencing the full capacity of what life has to offer.
Nothing is enough. Not enough conversations over morning coffee, not enough shared laughter, not enough ambitious plans whispered in the dark to make up for everything we missed. Every moment with her adds strength to my foundation rather than creating dependency. She doesn't complete me—she amplifies me.
And today, I'll stand beside her as she takes me to visits her family. It's a small thing, maybe, but it feels monumental. Like another wall coming down, another step toward whatever we're building together.
The late summer air hangs thick with anticipation as I navigate through familiar streets, each turn bringing us closer to the cemetery. Isabella's quiet directions are the only sounds breaking the silence. My hand finds hers across the console, needing that connection, that anchor as we approach what feels like sacred ground.
My heart pounds against my ribs as we walk the winding path, early fallen leaves crunching beneath our feet. The wind catches strands of her red hair, and I fight the urge to reach out and touch it. My jaw clenches, muscles working beneath my skin as anxiety builds. My hand is shoved so deep in my pocket the fabric strains, but I can't stop the fine tremors running through my frame.
"Are you sure about this?" Her voice is soft, concerned.
I manage a sharp nod, though my entire body feels like it might shatter. Memories flood back—Evelyn's kitchen, warm cookies, her gentle smile as she listened to my teenage problems. The weight of what I lost, what I let happen, threatens to crush me.
