back and see the desire, but he didn’t.
My head felt like Titanic on my shoulders, weighing me down, so I soaked in a warm bath instead of taking a shower. Enough time to get my wits together and my greedy desires under control.
Nonetheless, my headache was no less intense when I emerged from the bath an hour later. Though I did felt less discombobulated, enough to differentiate between a dream and reality.
Swimming in the Hawaiian waves with Xavier Xander was a dream. Waking up with a disgusting hangover with Davian Hamilton kneeling with me over the toilet was reality.
Having pretty blonde twins with Xavier Xander was a dream. That was over. Over . Having a nigh two-year-old son with Davian Hamilton was reality. That happened. Is still happening. That’s forever .
I blow-dried my hair, plaited it in two, donned a short white romper, and headed out to the kitchen.
Davian was seated at the kitchen island with my MacBook open, clicking through pictures of me and Jacob.
Once he noticed me, he quickly snapped it shut and stood. “That was one helluva long shower.”
“How did you guess my password?”
A smirk dallied on his lips as he rounded the kitchen island and toward the stove. “It wasn’t X-A-N-D-E-R , that’s for sure.”
I fired daggers at his back as he curled his fingers around the handle of the coffee pot and poured some in a mug. No, my password wasn’t X-A-N-D-E-R . It was H-A-M-I-L-T-O-N . Always had been. Guess I just never thought to change it.
As I climbed onto a barstool, I made a mental note to change my password to something non-men related. Like fudgepopsiclestick_frappuccinochocolatecake8_7_6 . Would love to see him try to guess that.
With a shit-eating grin, Davian set the mug of coffee down before me, and then transferred a dome-covered dish from the stovetop to the island.
“You ate already?” I asked, lifting the dome.
Taken by surprise, my eyebrows shot to my hairline at the gourmet-style breakfast on my plate. Eggs Benedict with garlic buttered croissants, fish cakes, chocolate covered strawberries, fresh blueberries, and raspberries in a little saucer of frozen yogurt.
“Yeah,” he answered, “You were taking too long.” Grabbing a hand mitten, he flipped open the oven door and pulled out a batch of oversized blueberry muffins. Setting them on the island, he bent again and came up with two china bowls of bread puddings.
All the while, I sat there with my mouth dangling in my cleavage. “Wha—how did you learn to do all this?” The Davian I knew, his culinary skills went as far as scrambled eggs and burnt pancakes.
Carefully removing one of the muffins from the baking pan onto my already overloaded plate, he said, “That’s a dumb question, baby. I was engaged to Jessica Stucco, remember? One of the best cooks to ever grace the earth. I couldn’t not learn how to cook.”
Like I needed to hear another praise about that redhead, to hear just how much better than me she was.
Green with jealousy, I stabbed a raspberry with my fork. “Sounds like you’re still in love. What’s taking you so long to go back?”
Pushing the batch of muffins aside, he said with finality, “I’m not going back.”
“Sure you wanna miss out on all those fabulous home-cooked Stucco meals for the rest of your life?”
Davian knew me well enough to understand I was just being a jealous bitch who wanted all the praises for myself, so he didn’t respond, and instead slid off the bread puddings to me, before picking up a fork and digging into the other one.
We ate without words, and oh my God , the food was so good. He clearly had a blast in the kitchen this morning while I was dreaming about Xavier.
“I went to San Francisco last week,” he told me once he’d devoured his bread pudding and cleared the dishes. “To see Jacob.”
“I know.” I eyed him across the island. “He’s my son, Davi. You don’t think I’m gonna know you visited?”
Dave was moving to L.A. tomorrow with Jacob, and we’d
My head felt like Titanic on my shoulders, weighing me down, so I soaked in a warm bath instead of taking a shower. Enough time to get my wits together and my greedy desires under control.
Nonetheless, my headache was no less intense when I emerged from the bath an hour later. Though I did felt less discombobulated, enough to differentiate between a dream and reality.
Swimming in the Hawaiian waves with Xavier Xander was a dream. Waking up with a disgusting hangover with Davian Hamilton kneeling with me over the toilet was reality.
Having pretty blonde twins with Xavier Xander was a dream. That was over. Over . Having a nigh two-year-old son with Davian Hamilton was reality. That happened. Is still happening. That’s forever .
I blow-dried my hair, plaited it in two, donned a short white romper, and headed out to the kitchen.
Davian was seated at the kitchen island with my MacBook open, clicking through pictures of me and Jacob.
Once he noticed me, he quickly snapped it shut and stood. “That was one helluva long shower.”
“How did you guess my password?”
A smirk dallied on his lips as he rounded the kitchen island and toward the stove. “It wasn’t X-A-N-D-E-R , that’s for sure.”
I fired daggers at his back as he curled his fingers around the handle of the coffee pot and poured some in a mug. No, my password wasn’t X-A-N-D-E-R . It was H-A-M-I-L-T-O-N . Always had been. Guess I just never thought to change it.
As I climbed onto a barstool, I made a mental note to change my password to something non-men related. Like fudgepopsiclestick_frappuccinochocolatecake8_7_6 . Would love to see him try to guess that.
With a shit-eating grin, Davian set the mug of coffee down before me, and then transferred a dome-covered dish from the stovetop to the island.
“You ate already?” I asked, lifting the dome.
Taken by surprise, my eyebrows shot to my hairline at the gourmet-style breakfast on my plate. Eggs Benedict with garlic buttered croissants, fish cakes, chocolate covered strawberries, fresh blueberries, and raspberries in a little saucer of frozen yogurt.
“Yeah,” he answered, “You were taking too long.” Grabbing a hand mitten, he flipped open the oven door and pulled out a batch of oversized blueberry muffins. Setting them on the island, he bent again and came up with two china bowls of bread puddings.
All the while, I sat there with my mouth dangling in my cleavage. “Wha—how did you learn to do all this?” The Davian I knew, his culinary skills went as far as scrambled eggs and burnt pancakes.
Carefully removing one of the muffins from the baking pan onto my already overloaded plate, he said, “That’s a dumb question, baby. I was engaged to Jessica Stucco, remember? One of the best cooks to ever grace the earth. I couldn’t not learn how to cook.”
Like I needed to hear another praise about that redhead, to hear just how much better than me she was.
Green with jealousy, I stabbed a raspberry with my fork. “Sounds like you’re still in love. What’s taking you so long to go back?”
Pushing the batch of muffins aside, he said with finality, “I’m not going back.”
“Sure you wanna miss out on all those fabulous home-cooked Stucco meals for the rest of your life?”
Davian knew me well enough to understand I was just being a jealous bitch who wanted all the praises for myself, so he didn’t respond, and instead slid off the bread puddings to me, before picking up a fork and digging into the other one.
We ate without words, and oh my God , the food was so good. He clearly had a blast in the kitchen this morning while I was dreaming about Xavier.
“I went to San Francisco last week,” he told me once he’d devoured his bread pudding and cleared the dishes. “To see Jacob.”
“I know.” I eyed him across the island. “He’s my son, Davi. You don’t think I’m gonna know you visited?”
Dave was moving to L.A. tomorrow with Jacob, and we’d
Similar Books
