I’m still replaying last night in my mind when Dempsey strolls back into my bedroom. He’s got two brown paper bags in one hand and a drink carrier in the other.

“Is that what I think it is?” I demand, shifting to the side of the bed to make room for him.

“Do you think it’s Jersey Bagels and a large dirty chai latte?”

I squeal in delight as he sets the goods on the bed.

“Do you want to eat up here?”

“Might as well. I’m pretty sure we destroyed these sheets last night.”

“That we did,” he murmurs, joining me on the bed, then reaching over to rumple my crazy bedhead and kiss my forehead. “Good morning, by the way.”

“Good morning.” I beam, then take a sip of my drink.

Fuck. It’s perfect. He asked about my coffee order last night, but I thought that was idle chatter. I didn’t know he was taking notes so he could DoorDash me breakfast in bed. This man is a different breed.

We dig into our food, then immediately get into a heated debate about bagel rating criteria. I’m a staunch believer that bagels with stuff in them or on them are the superior bagel, while Dempsey doesn’t stray from the classics.

“Okay wait—so if you only like plain bagels—”

“And salt bagels,” he interrupts. Which are just plain bagels with extra salt, it turns out.

“Why did you order an assortment of two dozen?”

He smirks before answering. “I didn’t know what you liked. I figured this way, you can have exactly what you want.”

I would roll my eyes at his cheeseball line if I didn’t know better. But I’m learning him. I genuinely believe this is who Dempsey is. At his core, he’s a caretaker. He puts his people first. Everything he does and every choice he makes is thoughtful and intentional. What he lacks in spontaneity he makes up for in the care of his actions.

I’ve never been into the concept of chivalry, but being on the receiving end of his brand of thoughtfulness feels really good.

“When do you work again next?” I ask through a mouthful of blueberry bagel goodness.

“Saturday and Sunday.” He goes quiet for a moment, then he turns to face me. “You know I don’t have to be at work for us to hang out, right?”

“I know.” I shrug, even though I was not aware of that fact until this very moment. “I just figured it’s easier for you that way, right? If you’re working, that means Fielding’s probably home with your mom…” I trail off, suddenly not so sure that my assumptions are on target. Maybe I don’t understand their system. Or maybe I’m grossly overestimating how much time he wants to spend with me.