20 Days In His Bedroom

Chapter Forty Five

I woke up early, alone in the guest room beside Kyle's. The silence was comforting, but my stomach had other plans. Maybe I could make us breakfast? If his kitchen had anything useful, that is.

I slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the kitchen. It was wide and modern — surprisingly well-equipped. Curious, I opened the fridge. Eggs, oats, croissants, pancakes, milk, orange juice, salad, sausages... Jackpot.

Just to peek, I opened the freezer: meat, chicken, and — oh — ice cream. A small smile tugged at my lips.

I started with the omelette. Twenty minutes later, the table was full: omelettes, oatmeal, pancakes, buttered croissants with jam, sizzling sausages with ketchup and mayo on the side, and fresh bowls of salad (clearly store-bought — too perfect for Kyle to have chopped himself). I poured two glasses of orange juice and set the table with cutlery for two.

Eight chairs. Just the two of us. Should I wake him? The food was going to get cold, and my stomach had been rumbling for too long.

I walked to his door and knocked twice. No answer.

"Kyle, I made breakfast. Please wake up. I'm starving."

A few seconds passed. Then finally, his sleepy voice came through the door.
"Twy... I'm coming. I'll just take a quick shower."

"No, eat first. The food's still hot!" I called out, barely hiding my desperation.

The door suddenly creaked open. He stood there, wearing only shorts, rubbing his hair with one hand, his eyes half-closed. My breath hitched. He looked... distractingly good.

"Oh," I said, immediately covering my eyes with my hands. I heard his chuckle.

"Why are you covering your eyes?" he teased.

"Put something on!" I spun around, flustered.

He gently grabbed my arm and turned me to face him. "We live together now, Twy. You'll have to get used to it."

"The breakfast is ready," I said quickly, shifting the subject.

"You already found everything?" He sounded impressed.

"Wasn't that hard." I sat at the table, pretending I wasn't still blushing.

"Yummy," he muttered behind me. Thank God, he'd at least thrown on a black T-shirt.

"I'm not a good cook," I warned as he took a seat. "Just... don't expect too much."

He picked up a sausage. "Anyone who makes all this already cooks better than I do." He took a bite. "Perfect."

He looked right at me. "Why aren't you eating?"

"I will." I grabbed some salad and tried not to smile.

"Thanks for the food," he murmured.

"No need," I said softly.

After breakfast, I tidied the place. It was already clean, but I wanted to explore — to feel like I belonged here. I showered, let my hair fall loosely, and added a touch of eyeliner and lipstick.

It was my day off. The hours stretched ahead, full of possibilities. I wasn't sure if Kyle would stay home or disappear somewhere. He'd been in his room for a while, probably showering or getting dressed.

"Hey," his voice broke my thoughts. He emerged in a blue button-down and jeans. His cologne filled the space, and suddenly it felt hard to breathe.

"You heading out?" I asked from the couch.

"Yeah. See you tonight." He smiled.

"Okay, see you," I said, trying not to sound curious. I wasn't going to ask where. That would be... clingy.

"I'll bring dinner," he added with a wink. "We'll watch a movie together."

Movie night? My heart fluttered. But then, reality snapped back.

Don't go there, Twy. Don't fall.

If I agreed to be his girlfriend, things would change. He'd expect more. Maybe even things I wasn't ready for. Would he ever want more than dating? Would he ever want... me? God, I'm so stupid. This isn't a love story.

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It was 7 PM when the door opened.

"I've got dinner," Kyle called out.

"You did?" I got up and took the bags from him. "You actually remembered."

"I said I'd bring it, didn't I?" he teased, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face.

I turned away quickly and started unpacking the food — seafood and rice. It smelled amazing.

"Did you choose the movie?" he called from his room.

"No," I replied.

"Mind if I stay shirtless?" he asked, clearly teasing.

"Yes!" I called back, hearing his laughter echo through the hall.

"You're restricting me," he said, suddenly running up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist.

I gasped. "Kyle!" I pushed him off and gave him a warning glare.

"I can't believe we're alone again," he murmured, his eyes locking with mine — deep and impossible to look away from.

"Believe it," I said, trying to hold my ground. "And yes, I am restricting you."

"Best prison I've ever been in," he whispered, brushing his lips against my neck.

"Okay!" I smacked his hand, trying to stay composed. "Let's just see what you brought."

"Say 'I love you' first," he said, blocking the table with his body, leaning forward like a kid guarding treasure.

"I'm not joking," I muttered, fighting a smile. He was so silly.

"Who said I'm joking?" he grinned. "Say it. Say 'I love you.'"

"Do you want me to lie?"

"So you don't love me?"

"What did you bring for din—"

He kissed me.

It wasn't long or aggressive. Just sudden. Warm. Real.

"Kyle, I'll leave," I said sharply, heart pounding. "How many times do I have to tell you not to kiss me again?"

"A hundred?" he quipped, raising an eyebrow, as if trying not to laugh.

"Kyle," I warned again.

"Okay, okay." He held up his hands. "Just... say it once, and I'll stop stealing kisses."

"Who said I love you?" I huffed.

"Your eyes," he whispered, still staring at them.

Oh God.

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Author's Note:

Some of you have messaged me asking for a sequel — I'm honestly so happy you love the story this much. I haven't decided yet, but your support means everything! If you enjoyed this chapter, please vote and comment — it really helps! Just a few more chapters to go... 💖