Chapter 93: Happy Little Nest
- RAYA -
Dex insisted on running out to get a few groceries before making breakfast, mentioning something about avocados on the way out, so I have been instructed to stay put. Before he left, he got me all situated on the sofa in the living room, propped up with pillows and a blanket like I’m a child home sick from school.
While he’s gone, I check the messages that I never got to from Cricket and Jay. They’re mostly memes and wishing me well—both of them saying how excited they are to see me again on Monday. It feels like ages since I’ve been at work joking around with them and dodging Laurel’s judgmental glares. I’m excited to get back—even if it means being the target of Laurel’s unhappy character. I’ll take it.
Jay mentions taking Grace to dinner in one of the texts, but he doesn’t say anything more about it. Based on how she showed up here at Dex’s house yesterday, Jay obviously didn’t steal her heart. Well, that’s her loss. And honestly—thank goodness for Jay. He doesn’t need someone like that playing with his emotions. He’s a really great person. He will find someone as wonderful as he is.
There is also a text message from a number not stored in my phone, and when I click it—expecting it to be spam—I realize that it’s from the personal number Lawson gave me that I haven’t programmed into my phone yet.
’Hi, Auraya, it’s Lawson. I hope we will be seeing you Monday and that you’re healing well. There is a lot we need to talk about. Please see me when you get in.’
I stare at the message and feel those familiar Lawson nerves start bundling in my stomach again, creating a knot that I don’t want to deal with. Dex and I never really talked about if he had spoken to Lawson or not. He told me not to worry about him, but I’m obviously going to have to.
I’m just not sure how to handle this. I wish the problem with Lawson would just magically go away. I don’t want to bring it up to Dex, because he will get upset and find himself in more conflict with his brother. If I just don’t reply to the text and don’t go see Lawson when I get in the office, maybe he’ll get the hint that I’m not doing his stupid covert mission anymore. That’s the tactic I’m going to try, and I’m going to cross my fingers and pray that it works.
There are messages from Dad and Rory checking in, and I hurry to reply to Rory’s since she was worried to the point of mentioning true crime podcasts and AI voice cloning last time. I don’t want her worrying about me with Dex anymore than she already is. Hopefully we can all spend time together when her and Westin are back in town and she can see what an amazing person Dex is.
Wasn’t it Rory who suggested Dex might be the literal man of my dreams anyway? And that this might all just work itself out? She totally called it. I hope she’ll see that and be happy for me. I need someone to be, because I’m so happy for myself that I want to share it with someone. But right now... there’s no one I can really tell.
’Feeling so much better today.’ I send to her. ’Can’t wait to see you Monday.’
I stare at the text bubbles and consider telling her more but decide against it. I’m not sharing details of this soul-level exchange with Dex like it’s just any kind of gossip. It’s so much more than that.
’Good to hear. Aren’t you proud of me? I didn’t freak out not hearing from you this time.’
’So proud of you.’ I send back to her, smiling to myself.
’See you Monday. Don’t forget to send me the address.’
’Okay. Love you.’
’Love you, too.’
The birds are making such sweet little noises outside the windows, and the gentle morning sun is streaming in, and I’m completely surrounded by comfortable pillows. All of the dreamy things compound with the drowsiness of the medication Dex insisted I take, and I find myself dozing off, cuddled into the happy little nest that he made for me.
I wake to see Dex carrying paper bags into the kitchen. I love his back. His arms. The way he walks—confident and sure, with such power and grace. He is so beautiful. But if he were an ass, all of that wouldn’t matter. The fact that he’s not—that he’s one of the most caring, gentle, sensitive men I’ve ever met—just makes him all that more attractive.
When he comes back through the living room and notices me watching him, he smiles, revealing those dimples that are so well camouflaged behind his beard and that make my heart do crazy fluttering things like it’s made from a million wings.
"Are you comfortable?" He walks over and kisses me on the forehead, and I hum a content reply. "I just have a few more things to bring in. Do you want coffee?"
"Sure. I could do coffee." I lift myself up and start removing the blanket.
"Just stay here. I’ll bring it to you."
"But..."
"I’m taking care of you today, remember?" He bends down, lifts my chin, and kisses me—stealing any refusal I might have. "Stay put," he whispers against my lips with a smile before heading back outside.
When he comes back in with a coffee and hands it to me, I stare at it with a stupid grin.
"What? Is everything all right?" He smiles with the question.
"I’m just going to need more reminding."
"More reminding about what?" His eyebrows pinch.
"That this isn’t a dream. You need to be a little mean once in a while. Or..."
He growls and bends down to kiss me, tugging on my bottom lip with his teeth. "Or bite you?"
"That would work," I whisper back, pulling him in for more because there is a deep hunger for him that keeps returning, promising it will never be filled.
"What if I just show you this as a reminder?" He pulls his shirt up and reveals the bruise I made on one of the perfectly sculpted planes of his chest, and I wince.
"Just give me one of my own."
He chuckles and shakes his head. "How can I get you used to being cared for just a little bit without feeling that it’s too good to be true?"
"Definitely by biting me once in awhile," I nod, totally serious. "That would do it."
Dex laughs some more, making me smile in return because it is truly one of the best sounds.
"I am not biting you," he says, turning to attend to the groceries. "Just get used to the new reality, principessa."
The name, even in Italian, makes me groan. "I’m not a princess!"
"You are today," he calls back.
There’s something truly stubborn within me that refuses to just lie back and accept that, so I throw the blanket aside and carry the coffee he brought me into the kitchen.
"What’s for breakfast? Can I help?"
"No, you may not."
With a pretend sulk, I slide onto one of the stools and prop myself on the island, watching him put things away and take other things out. Cutting board, knife, two pots, a pan, eggs, sweet potatoes...
"If I don’t call you princess, will you go back and lie down?" He asks with a passing flash of concern.
"Why do I need to lie down? I’m fine right here." I tuck the coffee between my hands and give him a reassuring smile. "I’m worried you might mess it up, so I’m watching you to make sure you do it right."
"You’re going to make sure I do it right?" He chuckles, picking up the pan and spinning it in a display of kitchen prowess before returning it to the stove.
"Yes, like that little move you did there—no more of that. You might get too distracted showing off and burn something or hurt yourself. Stay focused."
His eyebrows shoot up, and my expression mimics his—all the way down to the crooked, disbelieving smile.
"Careful or I’ll come over there," he chuckles.
"And what?"
"And carry you back to the couch."
"Darn, I thought you might say bite me," I tease. "Thank you for the coffee."
"You’re welcome." His eyes lift to mine—teasing, amused, genuine, caring—and then he gets to work, shooting me crooked smiles while the culinary magic unfolds at his hands.
"Rory’s boyfriend Westin is a chef," I tell him. "And her job is literally writing about food. I’ve always thought it was really neat, I’ve just never picked any of this up."
"That’s okay. I will happily cook for you," he winks. "But if you want to learn, I can teach you, too."
"So your mom taught you how to cook?"
"Some things. Others I just figured out on my own. Traveling helped me appreciate different tastes and traditions. Food is one language that everyone shares, isn’t it? And it often brings people together."
"That’s true. I never really thought about it like that."
"My mother..." Dex pauses, focusing on the tasks his hands have set but examining a precious memory in his mind. "She shared her love through cooking. When someone was sick, she had a soup for it. When there was something to celebrate, there was a special meal for it. But it wasn’t just certain occasions. It was everyday. Everyday she fed us from her heart. I know that might sound strange. I didn’t think much of it until she was gone and my father and I were surviving on takeout. That’s when I realized how it wasn’t just her food that nourished us but the love that went into it as well."
"That’s beautiful," I say softly, watching the sadness thread through the joy in Dex’s expression as he works.
"She was," he mutters.
He sets a bowl in front of me of quinoa with a beautiful array of foods on top of it, including avocados, and then comes to sit next to me with his own.
"Did I do it right, boss?"
"Ah, there we go. I like that name much better than princess."
"Boss?" He chuckles.
"You’re the boss at work. How about I’m the boss here?" I suggest. "And yes, it looks delicious."
"Hmm. That could work," Dex says, taking a bite. "I could definitely get into role playing with you."
