"Too much?" I stare at the mountain of food.
"Just eat what you can. I'll finish the rest."
He settles across from me with his own equally ridiculous plate, and without ceremony, leans over to press a quick kiss to my lips.
Just like that. Like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like we've been sharing morning-after breakfasts for years instead of having our first one ever.
The casualness of it makes my chest tight. It's so easy, so comfortable, so absolutely terrifying in its simplicity.
"So," I say, cutting into my pancakes and popping a mouthful in. "This kitchen is huge. What are your plans for this place?"
Nice change of subject. The perfect distraction.
"Full renovation, obviously. The kitchen needs to be completely redone—those cabinets are older than we are. I want to open up this wall between the kitchen and living room, create more of an open concept flow. Make it more modern."
"And you're doing all this yourself?" I raise an eyebrow. "With your own two hands?"
"Yeah." He shrugs his shoulders like it would be no biggy. "Some of it, anyway. The stuff I can handle."
I nearly choke on my coffee. "Ryder. Sweetie. I've seen you try to fix things. Remember the great air conditioning disaster of last week?"
His ears turn pink. "That was different."
"Was it? Because I distinctly remember smoke alarms and panicked animals and you looking like you'd been attacked by a particularly vindictive appliance."
"Okay, fine. I'll hire professionals for the electrical work. And the plumbing. And probably anything involving tools more complicated than a screwdriver."
"Smart man." I take a bite of bacon that's perfectly crispy and seasoned. "But seriously, with a bank account the size of yours, why not just hire contractors for everything?"
He grins and cuts through his bacon. "What do you know about how big my…bankaccount is?"
He finishes with a wink that makes my core clench.
"I'm just saying," I bite back, ignoring the innuendo and suggestive twinkle in his eye. "You could have this place finished in a month instead of... however long it's going to take you to fumble your way through DIY home improvement."
"I know. But I want to do it myself. At least some of it." He leans back in his chair, studying my face. "I want to build something with my own hands. Something that's mine, not just bought and paid for."
There's something vulnerable in his expression that makes my heart do that annoying fluttery thing.
"That's..." I pause, searching for the right words. "That's actually really sweet."
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I'm not surprised. I'm just..." I gesture vaguely with my fork. "Processing. All of this. The house, the hockey event, last night..."
"What about last night?"
And there it is. The question I've been dreading. The one I feel like we've been dancing around every since my eyes opened this morning, not knowing what the hell to make of all of this.
"I don't know," I admit. "What about last night?"
Ryder's expression grows serious, and he reaches across the table to cover my hand with his. "Last night was perfect, Mia. You know that, right?"
Perfect. Yes. It was absolutely perfect. Which is exactly the problem.
"Ryder—"
His phone buzzes on the counter, cutting off whatever I was about to say. He glances at it and his expression shifts from soft morning-after contentment to professional focus.
