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Nate

I couldn’t remember the last time I woke up this happy.

The kind of happy where your body aches in all the best ways, your heart feels too full for your chest, and the woman lying beside you smells like sleep and sunshine and everything you never knew you needed.

Willa was tucked under my arm, hair a wild halo on the pillow, her hand resting on my stomach like it belonged there.

“Pancake’s going to break down the door,” she murmured, eyes still closed.

“Let her. I’m busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Falling in love with you all over again.”

Her eyes opened—bright and warm and sleepy—and she smiled. “You’re a sap.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not.” She kissed my shoulder, then groaned and stretched. “But if I don’t feed those goats, they’ll riot.”

“I’ll come with you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You know how to feed goats?”

“Nope,” I said, tossing the covers off. “But I know how to follow you around and pretend I do.”

Fifteen minutes later, we were both in sweats and boots, Willa scooping feed while Pancake stared at me like she was still waiting for an apology.

“Stop glaring at him,” Willa told her. “He brought pie.”

We walked back to the house hand in hand, the cool morning breeze brushing across our skin.

Once inside, Willa put on coffee, and I rummaged through her fridge. “Do you always have this much butter?”

“I make my own butter.”

“I bake when I’m stressed.”

I looked over my shoulder. “You gonna be stressed today?”

She laughed. “Are you asking for biscuits?”

“I’m just saying if love tastes anything like the peach pie you made me, I’m about to fall even harder.”

Soon the kitchen smelled like butter and brown sugar. Willa moved around like she’d done it a thousand times—me in her kitchen, barefoot and shirtless, stealing sips of her coffee and kisses in between.

She leaned against the counter while the biscuits baked. “This feels dangerous.”

“Because you made something with bacon fat or because you’re falling for me?”

“Both,” she said, laughing.

I crossed the room, took her hips in my hands, and kissed her like we hadn’t just spent the night tangled together.

“I want more mornings like this,” I said into her hair. “All of them, if you’ll let me.”

“I want them too,” she whispered. “Even the ones with goat riots and burnt toast.”

“Deal. As long as we eat breakfast like this.”

She looked up at me. “Together?”

“Half-naked and in love.”

The oven timer dinged. Pancake bleated. And Willa just shook her head.

“Welcome to the rest of our lives,” she said.

And I couldn’t wait for every messy, sweet, heart-full minute of it.