The Way We Feel

Chapter 27

I found myself humming as I poured a steaming cup of coffee and set it down on the tray, right beside a dish full of scrambled eggs, toast, and fruit I'd already plated. Some of the coffee spilled, and I breathed a curse as I set the pot down, already reaching for a napkin to catch the drips along the side of the cup.

I was rushing more than I probably should've been, but it wasn't often Harry slept later than me, and it was much less often that I actually managed to surprise him somehow.

Breakfast in bed on Christmas morning felt like the perfect way to do that.

By some miracle, I'd woken up half an hour ago—slid out from under his arm, slipped on one of his t-shirts, and managed to make it out to the kitchen and cook without him waking. I was certainly counting my blessings, because somehow, Harry always beat me to these kinds of romantic gestures. But not today.

Today—it was my turn.

Tongue poking out of my mouth, I lifted the tray, watching carefully as the coffee tilted in the cup, praying none of it would spill over the side again. When it didn't, I started moving. Very slowly. Inching my way around the counter, out of the kitchen, to the hallway. And everything was going well.

Until it wasn't.

"Merry Christmas," his groggy voice said, and I was so focused on not spilling the coffee that I jumped, gasped, startled to hear him, and now, see him standing there in front of me.

Shirtless. In his boxers. Curly hair a mess.

Sleepy eyes. Pink lips.

Smiling.

"No," I whined, heart racing, practically stomping a foot to see him up and out of bed, annoyed that my plan was ruined and that a good portion of his coffee was now sliding this way and that on the tray beneath the dishes.

"What?" he asked, rubbing an eye before glancing at the tray in my hands. His smile returned. "That for me?"

"No," I said again, angling the tray like I might be able to get his coffee back in the cup. "I mean... yes, but I wanted it to be breakfast in bed, and now that's ruined."

Smile quickly becoming a smirk, Harry hooked a thumb back in the direction of our bedroom. "I can just get back into bed, Mads."

"Yeah, but it's not the same," I said, more resigned now, disappointment seeping into my words. "It was supposed to be the start of your Christmas gift."

Harry's brows lifted, and his smile turned crooked. "Oh, the start, huh?"

I rolled my eyes, but smiled. "What, you didn't get enough last night?"

"I could never get enough of you, my girl." He stepped closer to me, reaching out to take the tray.

"Ah, ah." I held it away from him. "Get back in bed." Then, I looked up at him. "You're not the only one capable of nice, romantic gestures."

Harry breathed a chuckle, leaned forward, and pressed his lips to mine. "Yeah, but I am the only one capable of pulling them off."

He was laughing and hurrying back into our bedroom before I could figure out what to do with the tray to hit him. But when he looked over his shoulder at me, still smiling, green eyes gleaming, I couldn't even be upset.

I couldn't be anything but completely and hopelessly in love with him.

The butterflies stayed with me as I headed back into the kitchen, hurrying to clean up the mess of coffee on the tray and refill his cup. And I felt them continue to flutter their wings as I headed back to the bedroom, this time, not as careful to be quiet.