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“You're entirely too cute in the morning,” he says, leaning in for a tender kiss.
He tastes like coffee and something uniquely him—a flavor I crave. As he pulls back, he boops my nose playfully. I giggle. These light moments are so unlike his usual seriousness.
“Last night was—” I trail off, lost for words to capture the rightness of it all.
“Incredible,” he finishes for me, his fingers tracing my cheek. I lean into his touch, craving more warmth.
“Let's get some food in you, sweetheart,” he says, his tenderness and authority turning my insides to mush.
It's a heady combination—his protective instincts and the way he makes me feel cherished and desired.
Garrett turns back to the stove, expertly flipping another pancake onto a growing stack. My stomach growls, reminding me that I'm ravenous.
But it's not just food I hunger for; I crave his attention and how he makes me feel when I'm his sole focus.
There's something incredibly sexy about a man who knows his way around a kitchen. He places a plate of perfectly cooked bacon, fluffy scrambled eggs, and crisp buttered toast in front of me. The pancakes are golden brown, steam rising invitingly from the stack.
“Eat up,” he commands gently, stealing a piece of bacon from the plate and popping it into his mouth. “You need your strength after last night.”
A blush creeps up my cheeks at his words, and memories of our passionate encounter flash through my mind. I dig into the food, savoring each bite.
“These are amazing,” I mumble around a mouthful of pancake, earning a chuckle from Garrett.
As we eat, we slip into a comfortable conversation about the upcoming art show. It feels so natural to discuss my plans with him over breakfast, as if we’ve been doing this for years instead of just hours.
“So, tell me more about the pieces you're planning to showcase,” Garrett says.
I launch into an excited description of my vision, and Garrett listens intently. His thoughtful questions make me feel heard and understood. Unlike others who humor me with glazed eyes, Garrett's genuine interest warms my heart.
As we talk, I absentmindedly scroll through my phone, catching up on the flood of notifications I've received overnight.
Suddenly, a message catches my eye, and I gasp, my heart leaping with joy.
“Oh my god, Garrett!” I exclaim, my voice trembling with excitement. “You won't believe this!”
“What's got you so excited, babygirl?” Garrett asks, his deep voice cutting through my swirl of thoughts.
I can barely contain myself as I read the message aloud.
“We at Castra Gallery have been particularly impressed by your innovative approach to promoting emerging artists and your keen eye for identifying unique talents. Your recent social media campaigns have caught our attention.”
Garrett's full attention is on me now, his blue eyes intense. “Keep going. I want to hear every word.”
Taking a deep breath, I continue. “We would like to discuss a significant opportunity with you: a dedicated gallery space in our downtown location and sponsorship for your upcoming projects. We'd love to meet with you at your earliest convenience to discuss the details. Please let us know when you're available.”
My hands shake as I lower the phone and meet Garrett's gaze. “Can you believe it? This is everything I've been working toward!”
But as I continue detailing the offer and my plans, I notice a subtle shift in Garrett's demeanor. His smile tightens slightly, and his responses become more measured.
The spatula in his hand taps against the counter, a nervous rhythm I’ve never seen from him before.
“It's such an incredible opportunity,” I gush, trying to ignore the growing knot in my stomach. “The gallery is in a trendy part of town, and they're covering all the expenses. What do you think?”
Garrett's jaw clenches, a muscle twitching in his cheek.
“It sounds interesting,” he says carefully, “but maybe we should check it out together to make sure it's the right fit for you and the artists who trust you.”
His tone catches me off guard, dampening my enthusiasm. “You don't think I can handle this on my own, do you?” I ask, hurt creeping into my voice.
