I had barely put my bag down on Friday afternoon when my Dad closed his briefcase and smiled at me.

"Feels like I'm always leaving you, kiddo," he said, softly.

I shrugged. "You are."

A look of worry crossed his face until he realized I was joking. He walked over to me and kissed the top of my head. "I'll make sure that I remember to make time for my girl these holidays, alright?" he said, "And your birthday is coming up. Let's make some good times happen, you know?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Good times happen?"

He gave me a look. "You know what I mean. The year is ending and I'm going to make time for my girl, okay?"

"You always do, Dad." I smiled, earning myself another kiss atop my head.

"You're amazing, Princess. Best daughter a Dad could ask for," he told me as he pulled on his coat and buttoned it, "I'll be back on Monday or Tuesday, alright? Be good for me."

"I will, Dad."

"And make sure you behave with Parker," he gave me a pointed look. "And if he's sleeping over, he sleeps on the couch, or in the guest bedroom, you understand?"

My eyes widened and my cheeks started to heat up. "Oh my God, Dad, I know."

He gave me another look and no sooner had I promised to do my homework before watching the latest episodes of all my TV shows, he was gone and the house was quiet and still again.

The clock told me it was closing upon five, and so I trudged up the stairs to my room, where I kicked off my shoes and put my bag on the floor near my table. I sighed, wondering what to do to kill a little time.

It was in the midst of my wanderings that Parker swung himself through my window, with a huge smile plastered across his face.

"Hey," he said, dragging the syllable.

I smiled back at him. "Hey. Were you waiting for my Dad to leave?"

He looked sheepish. "No," he said in a way that made it obvious that he was lying.

We stood in silence for a few moments before he cocked his head to one side and asked, "Dinner?"

I nodded. "We probably need to make something."

He looked almost excited at the prospect of cooking. "Fear not, milady, for I shall whip up some delicious treats." He then began to steer me out of my room and towards the kitchen.

"What are we having?" I asked him as he sat me down at a chair at the kitchen island.

"You'll see I guess," he told me, raising his eyebrows suggestively, as he headed over to the refrigerator.

I watched the back of his head as he rummaged around in there, looking through ingredients to figure out what to make. An overwhelming feeling filled my heart and my stomach and the image of him humming in my kitchen while he decided what to cook us for dinner made something that had been violently spinning in my chest settle down with a happy sigh. It was so calming and familiar even though it was new. It was the best thing I'd felt in a long time. Like I was home.

He finally emerged from the depths of the refrigerator with a lopsided smile on his face, almost like he was feeling the same thing that I was feeling.

"So, what are we having?" I asked.

"Filet mignon," he said in a fake French accent, while he tried to balance a hundred ingredients in his arms.

"I don't even eat beef, man," I told him, like he didn't know this already, "What are we actually having?" I asked, peering into all the things he had retrieved from the refrigerator.

"English breakfast," he replied, softly. "Because you love it so much and you'll totally have any breakfast food for dinner."

"This is not untrue," I agreed with him from across the counter, with a smile and a shake of my head.

He nodded and got to work. He put bacon on the pan, started poaching eggs, pan fried frozen hash browns, sizzled sausages and switched the pop-up toaster on to heat up in preparation for buttered bread. I went over and began to butter the slices of bread, while Parker hummed along to Feels Great. He looked over at me, popping the bread into the toaster and smiled. I smiled back, wondering what was going on in his head.

"So, someone's birthday is coming up," Parker almost sang, in his lilting tone. The corners of my mouth curved into a small smile, and my heart stopped for a second before beating again. It's not like Parker would forget my birthday. He bumped his shoulder against mine. "So, what are we doing?"

I bumped his shoulder back and shrugged. "I don't know," I said, shaking my head slightly, "My Dad was saying we could do something. I don't know. I've never been big on parties."

"You were born on one of the biggest party days of the year," Parker exclaimed, even though he knew I wasn't very keen on parties, "And they are having a party at school anyway." He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"The costume party?" I asked, my eyes widening, "No way. You want to actually go for that?"

"With you," he said without missing a beat, "Or," he continued when I didn't agree, "We could just go to McDonald's and get you all the chicken nuggets you want."

That brought a smile to my face. The toast popped and we sat down to eat. Parker sat next to me and ate hungrily. I wondered whether he only cooked when he was here. I didn't ask, though, because I didn't want to ruin a delicate moment. The questions would have to wait.

"This is what your Mom made for breakfast on your birthday," he said, bringing up memories of over a decade ago. I nodded. "I don't think anyone can make it as well as her."

"Well, she was a chef," I reminded him and he laughed.

"She made the best vegetables," he told me, shoveling some toast into his mouth, "I totally ate peas when she made it."

"And made me look bad," I said, whacking his on the chest.

"Well, you were not blessed enough to enjoy your Mom's cooking," he told me like it was a fact.

"Well, I'm sorry if I was blessed with taste buds," I quipped and he feigned indignance.

We sat there, eating for about an hour, recollecting our childhood, where we had seemed inseparable. When we were done, Parker completely refused to let me do the dishes, so I sat on the counter while he did them, sweating profusely while he scrubbed the pots and pans, occasionally, dabbing his forehead with a cloth as a joke.

"Clean dishes are no joking matter, Alex," he told me, as he wiped his forehead with his sleeve because I apparently didn't do a good enough job at it and I laughed. He shrugged off his shirt, choosing to stay in his grey tank top. My eyes immediately went to the scratch on his left shoulder, which still had angry looking red scars and I inhaled sharply.

Parker's hands stopped moving for a second when he realized what I saw, but he went right back to work. "Don't worry about it, A," he assured me, "It's fine."

There was a frown on my face, I knew. "At least let me put something on it," I said, in a small voice, "So that it heals."

Parker sighed long and loud and nodded. He rinsed the suds off the last pot and put it to drain and washed and dried his hands. Then, he followed me quietly to the upstairs bathroom and perched himself against the counter while I got everything I needed out of the first aid kit. I could tell he was watching me intently, and I tried not to let it bother me. I moved in front of him and moved the strap of his tank top out of the way to get started.

I was in the middle of cleaning the scratch with antiseptic liquid when Parker's right hand reached out and caressed my waist. My heart started beating a little livelier than it had before. 

He was watching me, but I kept my eyes focused on his left shoulder. I threw the cotton pad away and began putting ointment on his shoulder when his grip on my waist tightened. My breath caught in my throat for a moment before I forced myself to breathe normally again. I dabbed more ointment on to the cotton pad and continued with what I was doing, when his left hand found itself on my waist as well. I could hardly think straight because my mind was racing, but I kept dabbing his wounds. 

With both of his hands on my waist, he gently pulled me towards him, so that I was standing between his legs, almost against his chest. He didn't say anything; nor did I. I placed a bandage over the biggest part of the wound and moved his strap back into place. I could feel the warmth from his hands radiating through me from where his fingers touched the bare skin that was exposed between my high waisted jeans and crop top. 

I reached out to close the first aid kit, when Parker's left hand moved from my waist to my chin and pulled ever so slightly towards his face. 

My eyes met his and my heart started racing even faster than before. His deep, intoxicating emerald eyes searched mine for a few moments before he drew a heavy breath.

"Alex," he breathed, "I've kissed you twice, but I can barely remember them. I don't have the singular pleasure of remembering the feeling of your lips on mine." He put his hand on the back of my head and pulled lightly until his face was barely inches from mine. "I've wanted this for so long, Alex." He breathed in deeply. "Can I kiss you?"

My eyes almost watered. I nodded ever so slightly, breathing out, "Parker," hoping he knew how much I wanted it, too.

That was all it took for Parker to press his lips to mine. His hand on my waist pulled me flush against him. My hands rested against the back of his neck running my fingers through the crisp black hair that I could reach. His breath caught in his throat as he continued to kiss me, bringing both his hands up and tangling his long fingers through my hair. He stood up, leaning down so as not to break the kiss and slowly turned me around so that I was against the counter. Then, he lifted me up and sat me on the counter, pulled my legs so that there were wrapped around his waist and deepened the kiss.

I don't know how long it was before we pulled apart, but all I did know was that I wanted more; more of his lips against mine. I was panting as hard as he was when he rested his forehead against mine.

"You hadn't said my name in so long," he told me, "Hearing you say my name is like coming home."

He pressed his lips to my forehead. I pulled him against me, hugging him tight. I didn't want anything to break this moment. He pressed his lips to mine again, picking me up off the counter as he did so, and he walked us back to my room, where he laid me on the bed, slowing the kiss and finally pulling away before he rolled onto his side and pulled me up so that I was facing him. He smiled, happily and I did the same.

"God, Alex," he said, "It took us so long to get here, I'll be damned if I let anything come in between us again."

I looked into his eyes for a while and I ran my hand up and down his arm, making him shiver a little. "Tell me where you got this," I said, my fingers tracing his wound.

He picked up my hand and pressed a kiss to it. "I will," he promised, "In due time. For now, let me enjoy having you with me."

And then he kissed me again.

* Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment and let me know what you think. *