Page 32 of On the Shelf

“Morning,” Chuck said as he stretched his neck, his voice gravelly with sleep. “That’s some top-quality salt, fat, and protein.”

“Just eggs and toast. Nothing fancy.” Niall handed him a mug of coffee. “Sleep okay?”

“Best I’ve had in months.” Chuck accepted the mug gratefully, took a long swallow, and added, “Your bed is so much better than Aunt Lydia’s guest-room futon. Not to mention the extras. Unff.” He shook his head and sighed. “Got all my kinks loose.”

“I’ll be sure to include that in my Yelp review,” Niall joked, turning back to the stove to hide his pleased flush at Chuck’s easy morning manners. He’d worried about awkwardness, distance, maybe even a hasty exit strategy.

Chuck guffawed. “Five stars. Would for sure sleep there again if I can share the same room. Highly recommend. Busted three times and regret nothing.”

“Good to know,” Niall managed, focusing intently on the eggs as if they required his absolute concentration.

Chuck came up behind him, hips to Niall’s backside, and dropped his chin over Niall’s shoulder. “You’re friggin’ adorable when you’re freaked out,” he murmured and pressed a kiss to the side of Niall’s neck.

“I’m not freaked,” Niall protested, wincing. “I got eggs.”

“Uh-huh.” Chuck’s lips traveled up to the sensitive spot a half inch below Niall’s ear. “Very convincing. I got eggs too. Big ones.” He hunched closer with his hips.

Niall turned in Chuck’s arms, spatula still in hand. “They’re going to burn.”

“Same, buddy. Same.” Chuck’s eyes were dark with renewed desire as his mouth came down. He tasted like toothpaste, and his arms pulled Niall right into him, claiming every inch by pressing them closer.

Niall kissed back, licking and biting at Chuck’s hungry exploration of him. Up jumped his boner again. Jesus H. Christ, he was going to get frisky in his kitchen if he didn’t get hold of himself.

“Beautiful.”

Chuck gently kissed his throat, nuzzling him with fierce intent.

“Hang on. Hang on.” He raised Chuck’s face so they were eye to eye.

“Sorry. If you don’t—”

“No. I do, a lot. But….” Niall smiled, though it took considerable willpower to push Chuck gently away. “I got a nine-year-old cruise missile headed back here. Plus we have a treehouse to build, remember?”

“Spoilsport.” Chuck sighed loudly but stepped back. “Always the practical one.”

“Did you just call making out with me a sport? What am I, like, hockey?” Niall killed the burner and divided the eggs onto two plates. “Eat. Otherwise we’re going end up back in bed. Plus you’re going to need your strength.”

Chuck smiled. “I like the sound of that.”

And only after they sat down did Niall realize he’d accidentally confirmed he was expecting all this relaxed sexiness to happen again, often and regularly, as a continuing feature of his future life. He was embarrassed, but couldn’t figure out how to unsay what he’d said, or to unmake an impression about his feelings that wasn’t wrong.

They ate at the small kitchen table, and Chuck scootched his chair close so their knees were interlaced, showing him to be more tactile and affectionate than Niall would have expected.

“What?” Chuck had caught him staring.

“You. Everything. This.”

“Good. Don’t freak out, I’m right here.” Chuck kissed him and rose to refill their OJ as they made plans for the day. Chuck would pick up the lumber and start building the frame at the store while Niall handled the Saturday morning rush and kept Winnie occupied when she returned from her sleepover.

Niall caught himself imagining more mornings like this—Chuck at his table, knee bumping his inner thigh as they discussed their day over coffee and bacon, taking Winnie with them for road trips on weekends, a life outside these walls large enough to match the life inside.

He waited for the panic, but got a daydream instead—Chuck at this table with wet hair on a Tuesday, no occasion, sipping black coffee.

“Where’d you go there, big guy?” Chuck broke into Niall’s thoughts. “Your eyes went glassy and you stopped letting me grope you while I have the chance.”

Niall hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. “Treehouse. Day ahead,” he said, opting for a partial truth. “Going to be busy.”

Chuck studied him for a moment, as if he suspected the rest, but he didn’t press. “I ought to head out soon. Need to shower and change before hitting the lumber yard.”