“I haven’t shown you the shower,” I say, and when we finally get out of the shower, there is no hot water left.

She puts on one of my T-shirts to sleep in. She never did like sleeping naked. Even after we had sex, she would always get up and put on a T-shirt and panties. “Come here,” I say, pulling her to me in the middle of the bed when she finally slips under the covers. Her head goes into the crook of my neck, her arm goes around my waist, and our legs intertwine. I just breathe her in, and for the first time in eight years, I feel complete. I feel whole.

All through the night, we wake when we are not touching, which leads to me making love to her and then her falling asleep in my arms again. When I finally wake in the morning, I look over and see that the bed is empty, and I spring out of bed. She didn’t leave, I tell myself while I slip on my boxers. She wouldn’t just leave, and when I walk into the kitchen, I stop to see her standing there in the middle of my kitchen, wearing my shirt. She looks over at me, and a smile fills her face. “Good morning.”

I stalk over to her, my heart beating so fast as I push away the thought that she was gone. I grab her face, and she just looks at me. “I woke up, and you weren’t there,” I say, trying to catch my breath. “I thought …”

“I was making us coffee,” she tells me, her hands going to my waist. “I wanted to bring you coffee in bed.”

My lips crush hers, and I kiss her frantically as if it’s our last kiss. I pull the shirt off her, the need to have her naked under me is the only thing I can think of. “Jacob.” I pick her up, placing her on the kitchen table. She feels my need to touch her, and just like that, she gives it to me with no questions asked. When I collapse on top of her, she lets me lie here, playing with my hair. “Well, that is one way to say good morning,” she says, making me laugh, and I kiss her in the middle of her chest.

“I’ll go clean up and make you breakfast,” I say, slipping out of her.

“That sounds like a plan,” she says, getting off the table. “I’ll disinfect the table.” I look at her over my shoulder. “Your son eats at that table.” I roll my lips. “And my ass was just on that table.” She shakes her head, walking over to pick up the T-shirt that I threw.