Jay's POV
The heavy, soul-baring honesty on the beach had left us both raw, like skin scrubbed too clean. As the island wind began to bite, we retreated to the kitchen.
The shift in energy was instantaneous—the silence of the shore replaced by the domestic clatter of cabinets and the hum of the refrigerator.
Keifer, who had been trailing behind me with the focused, slightly terrified devotion of a man who had just survived an emotional hurricane, immediately sprang into action.
He shed his shirt and began rolling up his shirtsleeves. The sight of his forearms—corded muscle and a glimpse of the dark ink creeping down his wrist—usually made my throat dry. Today, it just made me wonder if he was fast enough to get the pasta water boiling.
"Sit," he commanded, pointing to the kitchen island. "You are the guest of honour. Or, considering the mood, the volatile dictator. I am your humble chef."
"Don't patronize me, Keifer. I have a literal internal war happening in my uterus. I am the victim here." I slumped into a chair, resting my chin on the cool granite.
"I wouldn't dream of it, Wifey," he smirked, reaching into the pantry.
"I told you—stop with the 'Wifey'!" I barked, though the smell of him—sandalwood mixed with the fresh tang of the sea—was already doing traitorous things to my resolve.
"What about , Mon petit chou? Cara mia? Queen of the Cramps?", he asked .
"Stick to Jay before I throw a whisk at your head",I warned him.
He paused, a cheeky glint in his eyes as he reached for the crabs. " But I think,Wifey. It has a nice ring to it, don't you think? Fits the vibe of the morning."
"Absolutely not," I countered, suppresssing a smile. "You haven't earned the 'W' word yet, Keifer. You're currently on probation. Highly restricted, high-security probation."
"Fine," he relented, though his eyes danced with mischief. "What are my legal naming rights, then?"
I tapped the spoon against my chin, pretending to think. "For now? You're Kwanan."
He froze, a hand halfway to the stove. "Kwanan? "
"Exactly," I chirped, feeling a rare, genuine spark of playfulness bubble up. "Now, chop the onions, Kwanan."
"You're brutal, Jay," he muttered, though he was grinning as he began to mince the garlic with practiced speed.
For the next ten minutes, the kitchen was filled with the scent of garlic, heavy cream, and spicy vodka sauce. I watched him move. He was graceful, like a predator who had decided to retire and take up cooking. But every time he glanced at me, that "beast" intensity was still there, simmering just under the surface.
"Stop staring, Jay," he murmured without looking up.
"I'm not staring. I'm judging your technique."
He turned around, a wooden spoon in his hand and a dangerous glint in his eyes. He walked over until he was standing right between my legs, forcing me to look up at him. The heat radiating off him was better than any hot water bottle.
"Is that so?" he whispered, leaning down until our noses brushed. "Because you look like you want to eat me more than the crabs and pasta."
"In your dreams," I breathed, though my heart was doing somersaults.
"Jay," he said, his voice turning thick. He reached out, his thumb grazing my bottom lip. It wasn't a gentle touch; it was possessive, heavy with the weight of everything we hadn't said yet. "I told you I'd earn my five minutes. Every second of them."
I felt the electricity snap between us, a spark so bright it made my vision blur. I wanted to pull him closer, to forget the past and just feel him—
Cramp..
A sharp, twisting pain sliced through my middle, making me gasp and double over.
"Ow! Dammit!" I hissed, clutching my stomach.
The romantic tension popped like a bubble. Keifer's face went from "seducer" to "panic attack" in 0.5 seconds.
"What? What happened? Are you okay?" He was hovering, his hands shaking as he reached for me but afraid to touch.
"It's a cramp, you idiot!" I groaned, resting my forehead on the cool granite counter. "It feels like a shark is trying to eat its way out of my hip.".
"A shark. Right. Okay." Keifer looked like he'd rather face a firing squad than a period cramp. "I can fix this. I'll... I'll get a heating pad. Or a doctor. Do we need a hospital?"
"I need the food , Keifer! Just feed me!"
He scrambled back to the stove, moving faster than I'd ever seen him move. He plated a massive bowl of spicy penne and slid it in front of me. Then, he disappeared into the bedroom and came back with a thick, fuzzy blanket.
Before I could protest, he wrapped it around me three times until I was a literal human burrito.
"There," he said, looking proud of himself. "The Burrito of Protection."
"I can't move my arms, Keifer."
"Good. It keeps you from stabbing me while I feed you."
He made me sit on his lap.
"Put me down",I said to him.
"No, don't move . If you move a inch more I will kiss you ",he said smirking 😏
I don't have any option so I choose to sit silently.He sat there and fed me, forkful by forkful. It was ridiculous. It was embarrassing. But the way he blew on the pasta to cool it, his eyes never leaving mine, made those stupid butterflies in my stomach go wild.
When the bowl was empty, he set it aside and leaned in close again. The humor faded, replaced by that raw, magnetic heat. He tucked a stray hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my neck
"Better?" he asked, his voice a gravelly rumble.
"A little," I admitted, my voice small.
He leaned down, his lips hovering just a fraction of an inch from mine. I could feel the heat of his breath, the scent of sandalwood wrapping around me.
"I'm not going anywhere, Jay," he whispered against my lips. "Not even when you're a grumpy burrito."
I started to laugh, but he caught the sound with a kiss—soft at first, then deep and hungry, tasting of salt and spice. It was intense, a promise of everything that was coming next.
I pulled back just enough to look at him. "You're still a narcissist. And remember I still haven't forgiven you".
"I didn't forget. But you also remember you're still mine," he countered, his dimples flashing. "Now, let's get you to bed before the shark wakes up again."
A/n
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