Saturday Morning Soup

The words, the look in his eyes, the feel of him against me, inside me—it was too much, too good. Pleasure coiled at the base of my spine, hot and bright, then snapped free, rushing through me like wildfire. I came with a cry, Jesse’s name on my lips, my body shuddering against his.

Jesse followed a moment later, his body going taut, his head thrown back, my name a broken gasp on his tongue. We clung to each other, riding out the aftershocks, sweat-damp and breathless.

After, we lay together, my head on his chest, his arm around my shoulders. The morning sun streamed through the window, painting the room in warm gold. I could feel the steady beat of Jesse’s heart against my cheek, the rise and fall of his ribs with each breath.

This, I thought. This was home. Not the apartment, not the city, but this man, this heartbeat, this quiet certainty in my bones. For the first time in a long time, I felt safe. Seen. Truly, deeply loved.

Jesse’s hand moved over my hair, slow and soothing. “Okay?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

I smiled, my mouth against his skin. “Very okay.”

We lay there for a long time, just breathing together, the dogs snoring softly at our feet. The scent of cinnamon and coffee and Jesse wrapped around me, warm and comforting.

Eventually, my stomach growled, loud in the quiet room. Jesse laughed, the sound deep and rich. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” I admitted, my voice muffled against his chest.

“Come on.” Jesse sat up, pulling me with him. “Let’s go rescue that french toast.”

We ate at the kitchen table, wearing rumpled sleep clothes, our hair sticking up in all directions. The french toast was a little cold, a little soggy, but it tasted like the best thing I’d ever eaten. Like warmth and comfort and home.

Jesse reached across the table, his hand covering mine. “Love you,” he said, his thumb moving over my knuckles in a familiar sweep.

I turned my hand under his, lacing our fingers together. “Love you too.” The words felt easy, right. Like they’d always been there, just waiting to be said.

The future stretched before us, full of promise. Of weekend mornings and climbing sessions and camping trips. Of quiet evenings and shared dreams and this man, this wonderful, golden-hearted man, always at my side.

I didn’t know what the future held, not exactly. But I knew Jesse would be there. And for now, that was more than enough.

The sun climbed higher, painting the city in shades of gold. The air through the open window smelled of cut grass and possibility.