She took her time to wear her top and one of his pajamas bottoms, and then change the bed sheets. Not easy for her thighs and back, bending and straightening up so many times in a few minutes.
Brock took the tea to the living area when Gillian joined him and brought the jam and syrup from the kitchen. He motioned for her to sit down and she did on the middle of the couch. Brock sat on the kitchen side and another sigh escaped his lips at the soft cushions cradling his back.
Gillian saw the remote on the coffee table. Would it be too out of place if she—?
"Mind if we watch some TV?"
Gosh, she so loved him. How could he be so damn perfect for her? She handed him the remote and he turned the TV on. To a news channel, of course. Her favorite one. So she just couldn't help it.
Brock froze, taken aback when she turned to him and grabbed his face. Ha! Now you're praying she doesn't seek any more action for the next couple of years, right, stallion?
But Gillian brushed his lips in a peck and met his eyes at the brink of a smile.
"I love you," she whispered, her voice warm enough to launch his arm like a spring to round her shoulders.
"And I love you," he replied.
Another of his sweet details that got to her every time: he never said, 'me too.' He used the verb, every time. His reply always included the word 'love'.
When he caressed her cheek with that mild smile, she was afraid he might want to try the couch again. Which would end up with her in the hospital, covered in a cast from neck to toes. So she rested against his side, her arm around his waist, and turned to the TV.
Wednesday breakfast watching the morning news together, cuddling in his couch. She hadn't needed to say or do anything to make it happen. Because that was just what a great fit he was for her—actually the best, ever.
Brock relaxed as well. He'd never expected things would flow in such a natural, comfortable way. But they did. Everything felt like that with her—natural.
A moment later she leaned to the table, added sugar to their teas and handed him one of the steamy mugs, then she leaned back again to rest against his side.
"Sorry I don't have coffee," he said. "I—"
"You don't like coffee enough to have any at home," she cut him off softly. "And even if you knew I'd stay over, you didn't have the time to shop anything after almost a month away."
Why did he think he needed to excuse himself? As if she wouldn't get it. He nodded, smiling back at her.
They lingered watching the news, having breakfast in no hurry. She brought her arm around his waist once more and rested her head on his shoulder. Like a reflex, eyes still on the TV, Brock rounded her shoulders with his arm. Which made her stick closer to his side. Which made him rest his cheek on her hair.
The words came to his mind, and he cut off their way out to inspect them first. He wondered if it was too soon to drop them on her. His logic replied it could only help her ease her insecurity. His guts called him a sissy and a moron.
"It feels so good, here with you," he muttered against her hair.
But it was Gillian, after all. Which meant there was always room for a surprise. She didn't express agreement in any way. Instead, she sat up straight and away from him to meet his eyes, doubt sparkling in her blue eyes. Brock held her stare with a mild frown, waiting for her to speak. Because he knew she was about to, even if he couldn't tell where her words would fall between 'let's get married' and 'I don't wanna see you ever again.'