Chapter Fifteen: Kitchen Romance
Morning sunlight streamed through the mansion's windows, painting the kitchen in warm gold.
Jay woke alone in Keifer's bed, which was unusual. She stretched, smiling at the empty space beside her, and followed the sound of soft clattering downstairs.
The kitchen was a scene of domestic perfection.
Keifer stood at the stove, shirtless, wearing only low-slung sweatpants, flipping pancakes with practiced ease. His back muscles moved with each motion, and Jay leaned against the doorframe, content to just watch.
"You know," she said finally, "if you wanted me to stare at you, you could have just asked."
He turned, grinning. "How long have you been there?"
"Long enough to appreciate the view."
He crossed to her, pulling her into his arms. "Morning."
"Morning." She rose on her toes, kissing him softly. "You're making breakfast?"
"Keiran requested pancakes before he went to sleep last night. I figured I'd get a head start."
"Where is he?"
"Still asleep. Exhausted himself playing with Rex." Keifer kissed her forehead. "Keigan's already left for school. We have the house to ourselves for a few hours."
Something sparkled in his eyes.
Jay raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"Completely empty. Just us."
"Just us," she repeated slowly.
He kissed her again—slower this time, deeper. His hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer.
The pancake on the stove started to smoke.
"Keif—the pancake—"
He groaned, pulling back just long enough to rescue the burning pancake. Jay laughed, the sound filling the kitchen.
"Sit," he commanded, pointing to the island. "I'll make you fresh ones."
"I can help—"
"Sit. You're my guest."
"I live here now, apparently."
"Even better. You're my permanent guest. Sit."
She sat, propping her chin on her hands, watching him move around the kitchen. The morning light caught his skin, his muscles, the soft smile he wore when he thought she wasn't looking.
"You're staring," he said without turning.
"Appreciating. There's a difference."
"Same thing."
"Perspective."
He brought her a plate of fresh pancakes, then leaned down to kiss her. She tugged him closer, and he went willingly, bracing his hands on the island on either side of her.
"These pancakes look amazing," she murmured against his lips.
"They're okay."
"The cook is better."
He grinned. "Flattery will get you everywhere."
"Promise?"
He kissed her—deep, slow, thorough. When they broke apart, both breathing hard, he rested his forehead against hers.
"I love you."
"I love you too. Now feed me. I'm hungry."
He laughed, pulling back to sit beside her. They ate together, stealing bites from each other's plates, laughing at nothing.
---
After breakfast, Jay started cleaning up. Keifer came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist as she stood at the sink.
"You don't have to clean."
"I want to. You cooked."
"Together, then."
They washed dishes side by side, hips bumping, hands touching. It was domestic and perfect and everything Jay had never known she wanted.
When the last dish was dried, Keifer turned her around, backing her against the counter.
"Hi," he whispered.
"Hi yourself."
"I love having you here."
"I love being here."
He kissed her—slow, sweet, building. His hands slid up her sides, fingers tracing her ribs through her thin shirt. She shivered.
"Cold?"
"Never with you."
He smiled against her lips. "Good answer."
---
The kiss deepened. His hands explored—respectful but hungry. Hers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.
He lifted her onto the counter, stepping between her legs. She wrapped them around his waist, pulling him flush against her.
"Jay." His voice was rough. "We should—maybe—"
"Should what?"
"Slow down? Think?"
"Don't want to think." She kissed his neck. "Want to feel."
He groaned, head falling back. "You're going to kill me."
"Good death?"
"The best."
---
His lips found her neck—that spot behind her ear that made her gasp. She clutched his shoulders, nails digging in.
"Keif—"
"Mine." The word was a growl against her skin. "You're mine."
"Yours. Always yours."
He pulled back just enough to look at her—at her flushed cheeks, her kiss-swollen lips, her eyes dark with want.
"I love you," he said. "I love you so much it scares me."
"Don't be scared." She cupped his face. "I'm not going anywhere."
"You promise?"
"I promise until the end of the universe. Remember?"
He kissed her—fierce and tender all at once.
---
A sound saved them from going too far.
Tiny footsteps. A small voice. "Mamma? Pappa?"
They froze.
Keiran stood in the kitchen doorway, rubbing his eyes, Rex dangling from one hand. He blinked at them—Jay on the counter, Keifer between her legs, both flushed and breathless.
"Pappa making more pancakes?"
Keifer cleared his throat, stepping back smoothly. "Uh. No, buddy. Just... talking to Mamma."
"On counter?"
"Comfortable counter."
Keiran considered this. Then he nodded, apparently satisfied, and toddled forward. "Want cuddles."
Jay laughed, the tension breaking. She opened her arms, and he climbed onto her lap, Rex squished between them.
"Morning, baby."
"Morning, Mamma. Morning, Pappa."
Keifer kissed his forehead. "Morning, little man. Sleep okay?"
"Rex had dreams. I helped."
"Good job, buddy."
Jay held Keiran close, looking at Keifer over his head. Her eyes said everything—later, when he's asleep, we'll finish this.
He nodded slightly, understanding.
For now, they had pancakes to make and a three-year-old to love.
The rest could wait.
---
The rest of the morning was chaos of the best kind.
Keiran demanded more pancakes. Then he demanded Jay make them with him. Then he demanded Keifer lift him to see the stove. Then he demanded they all sing while cooking.
They sang. Loudly. Terribly. Perfectly.
By the time Keiran was finally full and ready to play, Jay was covered in flour and happier than she'd ever been.
Keifer caught her around the waist as she tried to pass. "You've got flour on your nose."
"Where?"
He kissed it off. "There."
"And now?"
"Now you've got flour on your cheek." He kissed that too. "And your chin." Another kiss. "And your forehead." Another.
She was laughing by the time he finished. "You're ridiculous."
"Your ridiculous."
"Yeah." She kissed him quickly. "Mine."
---
Keiran's voice from the living room: "MAMMA! PAPPA! COME PLAY!"
They went.
Because that's what family did.
---
That afternoon, after Keiran's nap and before Keigan came home, they found themselves in the kitchen again.
Jay was reaching for a glass in an upper cabinet when Keifer came up behind her.
"Need help?"
"I can reach—"
He lifted her easily, setting her on the counter. "There. Now you can reach."
She laughed. "That's not what I meant."
"I know." He stepped between her legs. "This is what I meant."
He kissed her—slow, deep, thorough. His hands settled on her hips, thumbs tracing circles through her thin dress.
"Keif—"
"I've been thinking about this all day."
"Me too."
"Every time Keiran asked for juice. Every time I looked at you across the table. Every time you laughed." He kissed her neck. "All I could think about was getting you alone again."
She shivered. "And now we're alone."
"Now we're alone."
---
The kiss deepened. His hands explored—her waist, her back, the curve of her hip. Hers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.
"Bedroom?" he breathed.
"Too far."
"Here?"
"Here."
He lifted her off the counter, and she wrapped her legs around him. He carried her to the kitchen table, setting her on the edge.
"Comfortable?"
"Very."
He kissed her again, and the world narrowed to just the two of them.
---
Later—much later—they lay tangled together on the kitchen floor, surrounded by scattered cushions and the remnants of their passion.
Jay traced patterns on his chest. "We should probably move."
"Probably."
"Keigan will be home soon."
"Soon."
"And Keiran will wake up."
"Eventually."
She laughed. "You're not moving."
"Can't. You're too comfortable."
"I'm a person, not a pillow."
"Best pillow I've ever had."
She smacked his chest, but she was smiling. "Romantic."
"Always."
He rolled, pinning her beneath him. "I love you, Jasper Jean Mariano."
"I love you too, Mark Keifer Watson."
"This is forever, right?"
She touched his face. "This is forever."
He kissed her—soft, sweet, full of promise.
And somewhere in the mansion, a three-year-old woke from his nap and began calling for his parents.
The forever could wait a few more minutes.
---
End of Chapter Fifteen