Page 150 of Fangirl

My whole body goes warm at the sight of him. He looks rumpled and sleepy and slightly confused by morning, and I swear, it might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“Morning,” I say, trying not to sound like I’m already mentally monologuing about his bedhead.

“Morning,” he croaks. His voice is all gravel and sleep, and I feel it in my knees before he’s crossing the room like a very slow, very large zombie. He wraps his arms around me from behind, nuzzling his nose in the crook of my neck.

“You’re up early,” I murmur.

“You left the bed,” he grumbles, like that explains everything. “Also, Pea punched me in the face.”

I laugh. “That sounds like you probably deserved it.”

“Rude.” He takes a deep breath in my neck. “You smell like toast.”

“Because I’m making toast.”

“Genius,” he says against my skin and presses a lazy kiss there.

I melt instantly, and the spatula nearly slips from my hand.

He rests his chin on my shoulder, watching me cook like it's the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

“Will texted me,” he says eventually. “ Said I had to ask about… Lord Rupert Meowpants the Fourth?”

I snort. “Lord Ruppert Meowington the Third, thank you very much. Show some respect.”

Jake leans back just enough to look at me, one brow raised and his lips twitching. “That’s not a real name.”

“Oh, but it is. Will made a deal—help me sneak onto your set, and he got naming rights to my next pet.”

He squints. “Wait… we’re getting a pet?”

“Well, we already have Pea. And it was that or a child, so you dodged a bullet.”

He tightens his arms around me. “Did I?”

I freeze, unsure what to say. But he must feel the tension in my body because he shifts the subject without pushing.

“And we have to call him by his full title every time?”

“I don’t make the rules,” I say solemnly. “Lord Ruppert commands it.”

He chuckles and pulls me tighter, pressing a kiss to my temple, then another just behind my ear. I melt into him like butter on toast.

God, how did I ever think I could live without this?

We standthere for a while—the eggs are sizzling, Pea’s crunching like it’s Michelin-star kibble, and Jake is warm and sleepy and wrapped around me like he never wants to let go.

“Hey,” he says after a beat. “Can I admit something?”

I glance over my shoulder. “Always.”

“I’m nervous to meet Maya.”

I turn fully in his arms, surprised. “You’reJake Hollander. You’ve done red carpets and fight scenes and kissed actresses who smell like hairspray and insecurity.”

“I know,” he says, sheepish. “But Maya matters to you. Which means she matters to me. And she’s terrifying.”

“She is,” I agree, fighting a smile. “But she’ll love you.”