Page 16

ANYA

I groan as the sunlight hits me. I bury my face into the pillow, trying to escape the harsh assault of the sunlight. I frown. When did pillows become so hard and angular? I open my eyes reluctantly and blink a few times, my vision gradually adjusting to the light, my mind slowly reorienting itself. I notice that instead of a soft pillow, I am resting my head against something solid and firm. It takes a moment for my brain to register that the solid object is actually a muscular chest. I gasp, pulling away, and find myself face to face with an all-too-familiar set of green eyes staring back at me, his signature smirk dancing on his lips.

I swallow heavily, my eyes widening as I realize the situation I’m in. I’m not just resting against his chest; I’m practically sprawled across him, one of my legs draped over his waist, his arm casually encircling my lower back. Heat rushes to my cheeks as I become acutely aware of our position.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he greets, his voice still gravelly from sleep. “Comfy?” I immediately pull myself away from him, jumping out of bed, already missing the warmth. I wince as a wave of chilly air hits me .

“You know, for someone who was passed out cold, you’re pretty damn fast,” he says. I can see he’s enjoying himself. I huff in annoyance. I place my hands on my hips, attempting to exude confidence despite the growing desire to wrap myself back up in his warm embrace.

“It’s a talent,” I retort, my voice dripping with sass. “One of many, in fact. I can do a lot of things fast,” I add, a subtle innuendo lacing my words. What the hell?! How can I make it worse? I internally groan. Great job, Anya.

“I am pretty sure you can.” He chuckles. But then his face sets into a serious expression. He observes me for a moment and I feel a little self-conscious, considering my hair must be a mess, and I definitely look like a crackhead when I wake up.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and my eyes widen slightly at the unexpected question. It throws me off, and I find myself fumbling for words.

“Yeah.” I try to chuckle, but a weird sound comes out of my throat. “I am so sorry for yesterday,” I manage to say. I run a hand through my tangled hair, trying to tame it but only managing to make it worse. “I apologize for all the trouble.” I clasp my hands behind my back, staring at him. “I will take my leave.” I try to smile but fail. “I don’t want to cause any more inconvenience than I already have.” I laugh bitterly. I look down at myself. “I will return your clothes after washing them,” I assure him. I quickly pick up my bag and my phone. I can feel his gaze on me.

“Stop it, Anya.” His voice is a low sigh, laced with exasperation, as his hand rakes through his hair. My hands freeze, faltering in their movements. For a moment, I can’t decide whether to turn or pretend I didn’t hear him. The air feels charged, and I hate how much his voice affects me.

I finally muster the courage to glance back, but my movements are sluggish, like I’m trying to delay the inevitable. As I turn, my eyes catch on something—his hand, still tangled briefly in his hair, his jaw tightening. A flicker of hesitation crosses his face before it softens again. It takes me a moment to realize he’s already moved closer. The warmth of his presence makes my stomach flip, and my breath catches in my throat. He’s so close. Too close.

“There’s no need to be awkward about anything,” he murmurs, his tone so soft it feels like a secret meant only for me.

I open my mouth to say something witty and sarcastic, but all that comes out is a flustered stammer. My cheeks are on fire and my heart is racing a mile a minute. Damn it. I was supposed to be cool and collected. But I can’t help it; the way he looks at me, the way he touches me—it all stirs something within me that I can’t seem to control.

“I was just …” I try to form a coherent sentence, but my mind feels like a chaotic swirl. I can feel his gaze on me and I can practically hear my own heart beating in my ears. I look up at him and manage a sheepish smile. “I was just…I’m not awkward, okay?”

He looks at me intently, searching my eyes to see if I am lying. “Okay then, can I have the pleasure of having breakfast with you?” He grins at me widely. Despite the chaos of emotions swirling within me, I can’t help but find his infectious smile endearing. I run my fingers through my messy hair, trying to make myself somewhat presentable.

“I suppose I could spare a few minutes for breakfast.” I shrug, pretending to be nonchalant. His grin widens even more if that’s possible. “I will have to change first,” I mutter. His face falls slightly, but he nods.

“You don’t need to wash it though. I will do it myself,” he says. I open my mouth to argue. “No!” he exclaims. “Please don’t argue,” he almost whines.

I roll my eyes at his plea, crossing my arms over my chest. “Fine, fine. I won’t argue.” I sigh, unable to ignore the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. Damn it. Why does he have the ability to make me melt with just a pout? He grins when he senses he’s won this battle.

“That’s my girl,” he teases, unable to resist making a quip. I shake my head in disbelief, but the way I gasp internally is too hilarious and worth thinking about. My heart flutters at his words but I am too much of a coward to ask him what he means by it. That sentence is going to be my topic for the overthinking session I will have tonight. His green eyes sparkle with a mix of pride and satisfaction. “I will wait outside for you.”

I nod gratefully. Once I am finally left alone in the room, I release a deep sigh, my shoulders visibly relaxing. I take out yesterday’s outfit from my bag. I hate to get out of his hoodie. It’s just so comfy, and it smells like him, but I have to. Obviously. It would be weird otherwise. Slipping out of his clothes, I put on mine, cringing at the smell of my sweat, but I will have to deal with it.

I manage to quickly tie my hair up in a bun, which makes me look a bit presentable, and I rummage through my bag for my perfume. I desperately need it. I don’t want people to die because I really stink. I take one last glance in the mirror, the final attempt at taming my unruly hair.

I shake my head, watching as the strands fly and settle back into their usual chaotic state. With a resigned sigh, I give up and accept the fact that my hair is going to have a mind of its own no matter what. The reflection in the mirror shows me a girl with a messy bun, sporting a casual outfit consisting of a leggings and sweatshirt.

I open the door but Daniel is nowhere to be seen. I look around. I walk into the living room when I hear the coffee machine run in the kitchen, so I stop in my tracks. To my surprise, he’s right there in the kitchen, brewing coffee. He looks so focused, his nose scrunched up. A small smile appears on my face automatically .

I hesitate for a moment, watching him quietly for a few seconds. Should I say something? Or should I just wait until he notices my presence and gawk at him?

I cough and he slowly turns towards me with a smile on his face. “And you call me a caffeine addict.” I smirk.

He chuckles lightly but doesn’t say anything. I lean against the counter, observing him work. My eyes involuntarily drift down to his hand, specifically the prominent veins running along his forearm. He pours the coffee into a mug and extends it towards me. I looked at him, puzzled as to why he is offering it to me. His usual playfulness is not visible on his face. He clears his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing, and I almost want to hit myself for noticing these small details.

“Umm...” He rubs his nape and gives me a sheepish smile. “I made it for you actually,” he says softly. “I mean, caffeine-deficient you are a menace to society, right?” he adds hurriedly.

I stare at this huge man, taken aback. He has no obligation to do this, none at all. In fact, he should be getting rid of me by now, considering how painfully weak and clingy I was yesterday, and here he is, not only offering me breakfast but also making coffee for me. How in the hell is it possible for me to ever not get this fluttery feeling around him? I mean, after all, I am just a girl. I accept his coffee wordlessly.

As I take a sip, my eyes widen. I am almost speechless, but I manage to speak. “Is it…?” My voice comes out thick with emotion.

“Yes. A caramel mocha with an extra shot of espresso,” he whispers, his eyes roaming over my face. He not only remembered my order but also brewed it for me. The gesture touches more than just my taste buds. As I watch him looking at my face, his eyes roaming all over, I can feel a tight sensation in my chest. I take another sip of the coffee, trying to mask the swirling emotions inside me. I want to cry, dammit; no one has ever done this for me.

“You know how to make it?” I ask slowly, not having enough courage to face his eyes.

“No,” he mutters. “I learned it.”

I inhale sharply. I can’t help but feel my heart skip a beat. “I just wanted to learn about coffee in general,” he adds. I look up at him. Our eyes meet, but he immediately looks elsewhere. “I mean, you were praising your coffee so much, so I just thought…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, and honestly, I don’t want him to.

“Thank you,” I reply quietly. He looks at me, his eyes scanning my features for a moment. I can see a faint blush crawl on his cheeks as he rubs the back of his neck. “It’s perfect,” I say, meeting his eyes, my smile widening as I set the mug down.

“It’s no big deal. Don’t make it something it’s not,” he mutters, and I chuckle lightly to hide the disappointment bubbling in my chest. It’s definitely a big deal to me. I take another sip, the taste of the coffee bringing a wave of comfort.

“Okay, now that coffee is done, what do you want for breakfast?” he asks in an attempt to lighten the mood. He rolls up his sleeves, and I almost choke on the coffee because, wow , he looks too sexy. He raises his eyebrows. I just give him a forced smile. He reaches out and gives me a few light pats on my back. I clear my throat, a blush creeping onto my cheeks as I attempt to compose myself.

“I am fine.” I cough. “Anything will do,” I murmur, slightly distracted by his veiny arms.

“You’re going to taste my pancakes then.” My eyes widen and I mentally hit myself for giving everything a double meaning.

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips as he leans against the counter. “What?” I croak, desperately trying to control the blush that creeps onto my cheeks .

“Nothing.” He chuckles, his voice laced with amusement.

“So, what’re you waiting for?” My voice falters, my brain struggling to come up with a retort. “Start working.”

He just laughs, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. “Yes, ma’am.” He mocks a salute, and I roll my eyes as he starts preparing the batter mix.

He moves around the kitchen with an ease that is strangely attractive. I can’t help but watch as he effortlessly whisks the ingredients together, his muscles flexing under the fabric of his black sweatshirt. He pours the mixture into a hot pan. The pancakes sizzle and bubble, the smell of fresh batter filling the air.

He expertly cooks the pancakes, flipping them with a swiftness that is both impressive and hot. I am definitely not this swift. I need to mentally prepare myself, scream, and shout at Arnav, and I still end up breaking it into two halves. He plates two fluffy pancakes and I can hardly contain my anticipation. He brings the plate over, setting it in front of me, the stack of pancakes still steaming. I inhale the aroma, my mouth watering. I hadn’t realized I was starving until now.

I take a bite of one of the pancakes, the flavors exploding in my mouth, and I let out an involuntary moan of pleasure. I look up at him. His eyes darken. “These are incredible,” I manage to mutter as I look away, focusing on the pancakes. He takes the seat across from me. I swallow. The pancakes are so good I could cry. “You’re not going to have any?” I ask as I finish chewing.

“I prefer to watch,” he says as a devilish grin makes its way to his face. I roll my eyes. I am highly aware of his intense gaze, but nothing can stop me from devouring these pancakes, so I ignore him as much as I can. It’s difficult to ignore someone who is as tall as him.

As soon as I am done, I push the chair back and get up. “I will get going,” I announce. He doesn’t say anything, but I still add, “My brother is going to kill me. I didn’t even tell him where I was.” I give him a sheepish smile. I walk toward the door without glancing back because I cannot, for the love of coffee, face him.

“Firecracker,” he says quietly. I can feel his presence behind me. “I meant it yesterday,” he whispers in my ear. I inhale sharply, feeling his breath on my nape. “You will conquer the world someday,” he says, his tone gentle yet firm.

“Thank you,” I murmur. I look at him over my shoulder. “For everything.” And before he can respond, I hurry out, taking the stairs this time.

∞∞∞