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Her face lit up, and she leaned into me, her presence filling me with a sense of…homecoming?
"I'm so relieved and happy to hear you say that," she murmured. "I was worried it would be too much of a change for you."
I brushed my lips against her cheek. "I just want to live where you are."
She flushed. "I'll make dinner. Is there anything you don't eat?"
"I eat everything,ma chérie."Especially your pussy.
I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close. "Change isn't always bad," I said, realizing the truth of my words even as I spoke them, "Sometimes it's exactly what we need."
She smiled, and my heart stuttered.
Fuck, this woman showed emotion with her whole body. It was absolutely stunning to watch her. I wanted to fuck her into that Queen mattressnow, but I also didn't want her to think all I wanted from her was sex.
"I need a shower," I mumbled, looking at the small duffel bag I'd brought along with me. Maybe I could squeeze in a suit or twointo her closet,orI'd just have to wake and go to my place and then head to work.
"Towels are under the sink." When she left, she seemed giddy—way happier than she had been at my place. I wanted to always make her feel this way.
After she left, I sat down on the edge of the bed, sinking into the soft mattress. The bustling sounds of the street below created a soothing backdrop and I felt a sense of contentment settle over me.
I took a shower and as I put on sweats and a t-shirt, I could hear Marvin Gaye singing abouthearing it on the grapevine. Elsa liked to cook with the music on, I realized when I came into the open-plan living, kitchen, dining space to find her humming as she stirred something in the pot.
The smells were intoxicating, and my stomach growled in response.
She turned from the stove. "Hungry?"
"Starving."
"Sit." She pointed to her small round dining table with four chairs and a bouquet of wildflower in the center in an old-fashioned milk pail. She'd set the table with mismatched plates and colorful cotton napkins, and there was something whimsical about it like I was in French grandma's kitchen.
"I poured a nice Loire Cab Franc in the decanter." She raised a glass of red wine.
"You drinking?" I asked, curiously.
She shook her head. "A sip to make sure it wasn’t bad. I'm cooking with it," she explained.
I poured myself some wine and sat down, watching her. "What are we eating?"
"Nothing special. Justcoq au vinwith mashed potatoes."
"Nice," I murmured. There was something so domestic about this; middle classanddomestic. The Duncan Archer I thought Iwas would have wanted to run but Elsa's husband was happy to sit here and watch his pregnant wife putter around the kitchen.
She brought along a colorful salad bowl and served them on small plates. "Thecoq au vinneeds just a little more time."
In the bowl, was a simple salad, lettuce, tomatoes, and some feta tossed with a lemon vinaigrette dressing.
It tasted fucking awesome, fresh, and crisp.
"You eat like this every day?" I asked, spearing a cherry tomato.
"Sometimes, I just have a salad with grilled fish, chicken, or steak." She looked nervous, and I knew she was wondering if I was truly okay being here or just saying it to keep the peace.
I put my hand on hers. "Your home is lovely, Elsa."
"Really?"
"Really," I assured her.
