When I’d arrived here, all I’d wanted was to get through Sadie’s wedding and get the hell out of town again. Go back to my cabin in the mountains where no one could find me and I was free to brood in peace. Now I felt differently—at least for the moment.

April wriggled like a fish in my arms. “That makes me happy. And I think it’s a perfect reason to stay a little longer.”

Eventually we crawled beneath the covers, and this time, I held her close as we drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up to rain pounding against the windowpanes and thrumming on the roof. April was still sound asleep, and I decided to attempt something I’d never done before—make breakfast for someone.

I hadn’t been lying when I told her I had zero skills in the kitchen (I was probably a better dancer than I was a cook), but I wanted to do something nice for her. She’d made last night perfect for Sadie—and it hadn’t been too shabby for me, either. I had the feeling that she was always the one taking care of other people, and wanted to treat her for once.

I managed to get out of bed without waking her, found my boxer briefs on the floor, and tugged them on. Scratching my head, I looked around for my pants, but didn’t see them. Where the hell had they landed? Quietly closing her bedroom door behind me, I headed for the stairs and spotted them on the second-floor landing. I grinned as I pulled them on, remembering last night’s stairway striptease, and the grin widened as I made my way down the steps and saw the rest of our clothing tossed haphazardly to the floor—except for April’s bra, which I’d somehow managed to throw high enough to snag the light fixture, from which it now hung.

Guess my arm was good for something.

I used the downstairs bathroom, checking out my reflection in the mirror. I wasn’t sure what was more impressive, my messed-up hair or the scratches on my shoulders. Damn—the girl had gotten crazy with her hands. Actually, she was pretty unabashed in bed all the way around. Vocal and playful and not shy about letting me know when she liked something or wanted more, when she needed me to slow down or speed up, when she wanted it harder or a little less aggressive. It was the kind of thing you wouldn’t guess just by looking at her, with her buttoned-up blouses and knee-length skirts—I liked that.

I liked knowing her secrets.

I wandered into her kitchen and looked around for things I recognized. Okay, single-serve coffeemaker over there, I could handle that. I found a Cloverleigh Farms mug in the cupboard and brewed a cup for myself, and while the machine heated up, I poked around in her fridge and freezer. She had eggs, and I was fairly certain I could manage to fry or maybe scramble some, but I wanted something sweeter for her. Cinnamon rolls were out of the question, but I could attempt something like waffles or pancakes, right?

I was hoping to see Eggos in her freezer, but since I didn’t, I decided to try to make them myself. Pulling out my phone, I searched “easy pancake recipe” and clicked on the link for “Karina’s Best Fluffy Pancakes” because it sounded like something April would like and it also included a video. I’d need all the help I could get. After checking to make sure she had all the ingredients I’d need—what the hell was the difference between baking powder and baking soda anyway?—I got to work.

It took me a while, since I didn’t know where anything was and I was also trying to stay really quiet, but eventually I had a mixing bowl full of batter. I can’t say it looked exactly like the batter in the photos—mine had a few more lumps than Karina’s—but it was close. I found a pan that looked like the one in the video, took a guess that “low-medium heat” was maybe the number four on April’s stove, and said a quick prayer I wouldn’t ruin breakfast or set her condo on fire.

I tried to turn the first couple pancakes too soon, but after that I had a pretty good feel for it, and I was awesome at the wrist-flip maneuver it took to cleanly flip them. Eventually, I had a stack of (mostly) fluffy pancakes on a plate, and I’d managed to spill only minimum amounts of batter on the counter. And the stove. And maybe the floor.

I was rinsing off some strawberries I’d found in the fridge when April appeared in the kitchen doorway in tiny little gray shorts and what looked like my white undershirt from last night. Her hair was a mess just like mine, and I immediately wanted to bury my face in it.

“Good morning,” she said, her expression adorably surprised. “What are you up to in here?”

“Making you breakfast.” I opened the cupboard where I’d found the mug and took down one for her. “Want coffee?”

“Yes, please.” She grinned as she looked me over. “Wow, a hot shirtless guy is in my kitchen cooking pancakes. Pinch me.”

I went over and pinched her side, making her giggle. “Is this my shirt?”

“Yes. I hope you don’t mind.” She lifted the collar over her nose and inhaled. “It smells like you.”

“I don’t mind,” I told her. “Where did you even find it?”

She grinned. “It was on the floor in my bedroom.” Moving closer, she slipped her arms around my waist and kissed my chest. “Have I told you how much I adore your body?”

“I think so, but you know me—I’ll never get tired of hearing it.”

“How long have you been up?”

“I don’t know. Maybe an hour?” I kissed the top of her head. “I was hoping you’d stay asleep until I had this all done, but I’m not very fast in the kitchen.”

She leaned back and looked up at me. “Why didn’t you wake me, silly? I could have helped you.”

“I was trying to do something nice to surprise you.” I glanced toward my workspace. “But I made a mess. Sorry.”

“I don’t mind. I thought you didn’t cook.”

“I don’t. But I can read, so I just followed the recipe. And there may have been a video involved. Is that cheating?”

She smiled and shook her head. “Nope.”

“These pancakes could still taste like leather. Be prepared.”

“They smell amazing. And I don’t care what they taste like—no one has ever made breakfast for me before. I’m grateful.”

I kissed the tip of her nose. “Good. Do you have any maple syrup?”

“I think so. I don’t use it much, but I’m pretty sure there’s an unopened one up here.” She went over to the cupboard above the fridge and reached for the handle, but couldn’t quite grasp it, even up on her tiptoes. “Um. I can’t reach in bare feet.”

“Well, give it a few minutes. Maybe you’ll grow.”

“Very funny. Can you help me?”

Grinning, I took her by the hips and gently moved her aside. “I got it, babe.” I opened the cupboard and grabbed the bottle of syrup.

She took it from me, fluttering her lashes. “My hero.”

We sat at her dining table, ate deliciously fluffy pancakes (Karina would have been proud) and strawberries, drank coffee, and talked about the wedding.

“I can’t believe this rain today!” she exclaimed, sitting on her heels just like she always did. “We got so lucky to have that sunny day in between two rainy ones.”