Morning light streams through the kitchen window, painting golden rectangles across our table as I sit before a breakfast spread that belongs in some fancy brunch commercial. The scent of fresh waffles rises with the steam, making my stomach growl loud enough that Summer probably heard it from the stove.
I sink my teeth into a perfectly golden waffle, the crisp exterior giving way to fluffy sweetness inside. Butter melts into every square divot, pooling with maple syrup in a way that should be illegal this early in the morning. The first bite hits me with a wave of nostalgia so powerful I actually close my eyes.
"I can't believe how much I missed eating breakfast," I mumble around a mouthful, not even caring about table manners.
Summer turns from the counter where she's been whisking eggs, her face lighting up at my words. There's something almost painful about how happy my simple appreciation makes her. She watches me with those devoted blue eyes, like I'm performing some miracle just by enjoying her cooking.
"Well, get used to it," she says, her voice soft but certain, "because this is the rest of your life."
The words hang between us, heavy with promise and something darker I can't quite name. I smile at her anyway, reaching for my glass of orange juice. The cool rim touches my lips as I tilt it back, savoring the tangy sweetness.
"You're spoiling me," I tell her after swallowing. "I'll get fat if you keep feeding me like this."
Summer's laugh is bright, genuine in a way that makes the kitchen feel warmer. "You could use a few extra pounds, honestly. You got too skinny while I was gone."
I don't mention that I dropped weight because eating felt like a chore when she left. How for months, food tasted like nothing but ash in my mouth. How sometimes I'd forget to eat entirely until my stomach cramped with emptiness.
I take another sip of the orange juice, and a wave of warmth washes over me, like sunshine spreading through my veins. A strange sense of contentment settles in my chest, not just the normal pleasure of a good breakfast, but something deeper. For the first time in forever, I feel like maybe everything's going to work out.
"Wow," I say, staring at the glass in my hand with newfound appreciation. "This juice is really good."
Summer glances over her shoulder, spatula poised mid-flip. "Hmm?"
"The orange juice," I clarify, taking another long drink. "What kind is it?"
"Tropicana," she says with a casual shrug, turning back to the eggs. "Nothing fancy."
I look down at the ordinary glass of store-brand juice with bewilderment. "Damn, I don't remember it ever tasting this good before."
Summer's shoulders tense slightly, but she doesn't turn around. "Maybe your taste buds are just extra appreciative this morning."
I drain the glass, chasing that warm, fuzzy feeling that's spreading through my limbs.
"Could I have some more?" I ask, already standing to refill my glass.
Summer moves surprisingly quickly, taking the glass from my hand before I can reach the refrigerator. "Let me," she insists, her smile bright but her eyes watchful. "You finish those waffles before they get cold."
I sink back into my chair, suddenly feeling lighter than air. The kitchen seems brighter somehow, colors more vivid, sounds more distinct. I can hear the soft sizzle of eggs in the pan, the distant hum of traffic outside our window, even the gentle rhythm of Summer's breathing as she pours more juice.
"Here you go," she says, setting the refilled glass in front of me. Her fingers linger on mine as she passes it over, her touch sending electric currents up my arm.
I look at her, feeling a strange, pleasant weariness settling over me. It's not the heavy exhaustion I'm used to, but something light, almost buoyant, like happiness has physical weight, but it's carrying me rather than dragging me down.
"What?" Summer asks, catching me staring.
"Nothing," I reply, unable to stop the smile spreading across my face.
She smiles back, her eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always makes my heart skip. I take another sip of the fresh juice, noting it tastes slightly different this time, a bit tangy, maybe a touch more acidic, but still good. Probably just the contrast with the sweetness of the waffles affecting my taste buds.
We finish breakfast together, Summer chattering about her plans for the day while I nod along, feeling unusually content. The anxiety that normally hums beneath my skin like an electrical current has gone completely silent. I can't remember the last time I felt this... peaceful.
"Alright," I say finally, glancing at the clock on the microwave. "I should probably get ready for work."
Summer's eyes darken slightly as she rises from her chair. She moves toward me with that fluid grace that always reminds me of a predator, but today it doesn't set off any alarm bells. She slides onto my lap, her arms draping around my neck.
"You wouldn't possibly have time for a quickie, would you?" she purrs, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of my neck.
I should say no. I should be responsible, get to work on time, maintain some boundaries. But the usual anxiety that would push me toward the sensible choice is mysteriously absent, replaced by a warm, pulsing desire.
"Well, I don't know if we should..." I say, my tone completely contradicting my words, my hands already finding their way to her waist.
Summer's smile widens, sensing my surrender before I've even fully acknowledged it. "Come on," she whispers against my ear, her breath sending shivers down my spine. "Let's go quickly then, baby."
She stands, taking my hand and pulling me up from the chair. I follow her toward our bedroom, marveling at how light my body feels, how every sensation seems heightened. The morning sunlight catching in her hair transforms it into a golden halo, and I'm struck by an overwhelming surge of affection for her. The feeling is familiar, yet I can't quite place it.
Is this how it feels to forgive someone?
The bedroom door swings open under Summer's eager push, and she's already stripping off her tank top before I can even close it behind us. My head swims pleasantly as I watch her, everything about her movements more captivating than usual.
"Hurry," she whispers, bending over the edge of our bed, her shorts and panties already pushed down around her thighs. "I want you now."
I don't remember crossing the room or undressing, but suddenly I'm behind her, my hands gripping her hips as I guide myself into her with one smooth thrust. She gasps, arching her back as I fill her completely.
"Oh my god," I breathe, overwhelmed by sensation.
Everything feels magnified, her skin beneath my fingers impossibly soft, the tight heat of her body gripping me with exquisite pressure. I start moving, each thrust sending waves of pleasure cascading through me that feel just a tinge stronger than normal.
"You feel so good," Summer moans, pushing back against me with desperate need. "Don't stop, baby."
I have no intention of stopping. This connection between us feels profound, meaningful in a way I can't quite articulate. Maybe this is what healing feels like, this lightness in my chest, this certainty that everything is exactly as it should be.
My thoughts drift as pleasure builds with each thrust. Something about this moment feels transcendent, beyond the physical connection we're sharing. The weight that's been crushing my chest since Summer's return seems to have lifted, replaced by an unfamiliar lightness.
I grip her hips tighter, my movements becoming more urgent. This sudden clarity washing over me, it must be forgiveness finally breaking through. That's why everything feels so intense, so right. My heart is lightening its load, shedding the anger and hurt I've been carrying.
The sunlight streaming through the blinds casts golden stripes across Summer's back as she moves beneath me, her breathless moans filling our bedroom. I feel connected to her in a way I haven't since before everything fell apart.
My entire body tenses as pleasure explodes through me like lightning striking every nerve ending at once. I grip Summer's hips with bruising force, driving myself as deep as physically possible inside her as I empty myself completely. The sensation is so intense my vision blurs at the edges, and a primal groan tears from my throat.
"Fuck, Summer," I gasp, my body shuddering as I continue to pulse inside her. "That's... incredible."
She whimpers beneath me, her inner muscles clenching rhythmically around me, milking every last drop as her own orgasm crashes through her. The connection between us feels almost supernatural in its intensity.
"Yes, baby," she moans, her voice breaking with emotion. "Fill me up. Give me everything."
I collapse forward, my chest pressed against her back, both of us breathing hard. My mind floats in a strange, blissful haze where everything makes perfect sense. Why was I ever worried about us? This is where I belong.
"We should do this every morning," I whisper against her neck without thinking too hard.
Summer laughs softly, the sound vibrating through both our bodies. "I'd love that."