Amila read over Deja's text a couple more times before actually taking her friend's advice. She tossed back the welcoming covers and rose from the bed preparing to see someone who would probably be indifferent to her. The warm shower was therapy for the tangled and tight muscles of her neck and shoulders, working them out and soothing the ache that formed from the worry that built after he left and hours after he didn't return. She tried waiting up for him but it was an idiotic task since he didn't come back and all she had to show for it was tired eyes that she didn't inspect in the mirror as she brushed her hair into a simple ponytail.

It was the robust, rich aroma of coffee that called her out of the slumber she finally surrendered to well after midnight. She covered her mouth as she let out a soundless yawn following the trail of sizzling oil and bacon. They led her to the kitchen which wasn't a surprise to her but what she saw did. She stopped at the island, not letting her eyes linger on the lovely peonies floating in a vase on top of it. No, they settled on the broad back of the man casually standing at the stove giving all his attention to something in a cast-iron skillet that filled the house with a sensational smell that called back memories of Sunday morning when everything seemed magically in her life.

She read his outfit for clues; the grey sweatpants might have meant he went for a workout earlier that morning but they were too pristine and so was the crisp white shirt spread over his shoulders. The gold watch latched onto his wrist might mean that he was taking care of business but the backward NYU cap negated that notion. He hummed along to the easy R&B that was l streaming from the speaker in the living room which would make one assume he was content, calm, and relaxed but that couldn't be right. Could it? She remembered last night, she was there. She felt none of those things and he was madder than she was so that prediction had to be incorrect.

"What are you doing?" She asked, forging further into the kitchen so that she could now see what he was tending to in the skillet. It wasn't bacon but links of sausage split in half just like her mom used to do on those Sundays she made breakfast from scratch and not the oatmeal that was stable on weekdays. Saturdays she and her sister had to fend for themselves but Sundays were special.

Dominic turned to her with an easy smile that greeted her, absolving her of some of the worries that churned in her empty stomach. Had he moved on from the tiff of last night or was this just a calm before the storm? Was this her last meal before he kicked her out on her ass to go back to sleeping on a sofa and mixing the non-dairy java concoctions of a Picky Patty?

"Making breakfast." He answered, a hint of humor lifted his tone and his eyebrows knitted faintly knowing his actions were self-explanatory.

"That I can see but..." She said, casting a quizzical glance at the plates and champagne glasses set up on the island, the stack of buttermilk pancakes, a pitcher of mimosa, and a tray of speckled eggs resting on the countertop by the stove waiting for their time to fry in a skillet. "...why?"

"Because in the morning people eat breakfast." He chuckled, turning back to the skillet to flip the sausage. "I mean I eat breakfast. It's the most important meal of the day, Mila. I hope you haven't been skipping it."

"Dominic." She tugged his shoulder, prompting him to face her. She peered at him oddly and then asked. "Have you been body-snatched? Have you forgotten last night? Where did you go? What the hell?"

"I went to a hotel, had a drink or two, and slept like a baby." He fanned the metal spatula around easily like he had much practice with the kitchen utensil. "How was your night?" He asked before turning back to the sizzling skillet.

"Fucked up! That's how." She tossed her arm up and let her hand slap the side of her thigh on its way down. The smack of skin against skin snatched his attention back to her. "You left furious with me last night and you show up in the morning humming and making breakfast like Betty Crocker..." Her eyebrows knitted in realization. "You're buttering me up to let me down easy. You're ending our agreement."

"No." He quickly told, moving away from the now-empty skillet. "I'm—" He paused, taking her hands in his. "I'm...apologizing. This is my apology for overreacting."

She took in the first easy breath since yesterday evening then squeezed his hands. "You could just say...I don't know....sorry for overreacting."

"So, you don't want this." He glanced over at the food with a smirk. "I'll just toss it."

She didn't let go of his hand as he feigned a step to follow through on his words. "Stop playing." She giggled then let the humor fade from her features once his sight was back completely on her. "I get it. I wasn't completely honest and honesty is important in the agreement we're in. We shared our status but I should've told you that I had a clean bill of health because I'm a—"

"I don't care that you have been with anyone before." He said. "That's not why I overreacted. It wasn't about you at all. It was about me."

The look on her face and the way she tilted her head informed him that he needed to explain more.

"Your first time should be special and not a quickie on the kitchen table because I've been horny for three days." He freed a hand from her grasp to hold the side of her face, peering at her like she was the only person in the world that mattered. "You deserve romance."

"True." She wrapped her hand around his wide wrist as his hand lifted from the smile forming on her face. "But I also want a quickie on the kitchen table because I've been horny for a year." She plucked his hand off her face, and rested her body against his as she locked her arms loosely around his neck. He wrapped his arms around her waist holding her in place to reduce the strain of her weight on her tiptoes forgetting the strength she held in her calves.

She stroked her thumb across the smooth skin beneath his nape, "I'm appreciative that you care so deeply but I want you, Dominic, and if..." She took in a deep breath glancing down to muster the courage to admit the truth. "If...what happened didn't happen all those months ago, I would have answered your calls. I would have called you back."

Her eyes began to water remembering what she was doing when she ignored his calls; picking out three urns. He held her a little tighter before placing a sweet kiss on her forehead. She smiled up at him, thankful for the kind gesture.

"Accepted that second date..." She set her eyes back on him with her eyes still misty with emotions as she slid a hand over his chest, down his chest, and slipped her fingers under the waistband of his sweatpants. He jumped when her hand reached its destination. "I want all the things you want. I want to ride you until day becomes night." She wrapped her fingers around his thick shaft growing harder in her grasp. "I may be a virgin but I want to be bent over and fucked slow by you." She stroked her thumb over the crown of his cock as a smirk ticked up her lips from the way he clenched his jaw with arousal in his eyes. "Got it."

"I-I got it." He muttered and fished her hand out of his pants. He licked his lips and then took in a breath as if he was trying to recollect his thoughts. "Do you have a passport?"

"Yes." She narrowed her eyes quizzically, "Why?"

"I have business to take care of in London and you're coming with me. We leave in two hours." He answered, attraction still lingering in his gaze as he momentarily glanced at her lips as if he wanted them against his or somewhere else. "So, wash her hands, Naughty girl, and eat. We have packing to do?"

Amila lathered soap on her hands, "Isn't it autumn in England? I don't have Autumn in London clothes. I have 'kinda like Fall' Texas outfit."

"We'll pick up something on the way to the plane," He poured mimosa in the pair of champagne glasses and then handed her one after she dried her hands. He clinked his glass to hers with mischief now playing in his eyes. "We're going to have a great day and an even better night."

She matched his grin, "I can't wait."

Do you think Dominic owed her an apology?

Do you think Amila got her point across to him, that she's a grown woman that knows what she wants?

What do you think they're going to get into in London?

Amila thinks she knows but what do you think would have happened between them if she had answered his calls and not had to do the heavy task of preparing a wake?