Page 45 of When Forever Falls Apart

But then, my eyes snap open, and Elliot’s gaze lingers in my thoughts. Only moments ago, I hugged him tight, and something odd passed between us.

I pictured him in ways I shouldn’t have. My gaze lingered on his lips, and I was this close to throwing myself on him because something wild inside of me was unleashed. I blame my celibacy for the pent-up frustration between my legs.

Luckily, I snapped out of it and pulled away before anything happened, which I would no doubt regret.

Elliot moves about the cramped kitchen as the air fills with an aroma that churns my already unsettled stomach. I sink back into the cocoon of Elliot’s bed, the soft fabric of the sheets pressing against my skin as I turn my gaze to the dim, low ceiling above. The gentle sway of the boat amplifies my queasiness, as if the vessel itself is mocking my pitiful state.

I tug the blanket over myself, enveloping my body in its warm embrace. The scent of Elliot surrounds me, and despite my poor state, a small smile tugs at my lips. It smells masculine, and sexy, but most of all, it smells safe. Like being here on this boat inside this room, I’m protected from the world.

And, even better, Elliot agreed to go to this wedding with me.

“All right, Bugs. Time to shake off that hangover,” Elliot calls out from the kitchen, his cheerfulness bordering on irritating.

His newfound nickname for me does nothing to encourage me out of this little sanctuary I find myself in, but with a low groan, I force myself to rise. Despite the coffee I drank earlier, my brain is foggy, and I have barely any energy to move my sore body.

Suddenly, a wave of embarrassment washes over me as I become acutely aware of my ridiculous state. I’m wearing nothing but his oversized T-shirt, with my bra and panties beneath.

He saw my nipplesagain, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s developing a fascination for them, like a nipple fetish or something.

Elliot approaches, balancing a tray with a steaming bowl of golden chicken noodle soup. I had half-expected a greasy breakfast of bacon, turkey sausage, and eggs. But the soup catches me by surprise, mainly because the faint smell stirs a reaction in my empty stomach.

I glance down again, staring at the bowl. “It’s soup.”

“It’s chicken noodle soup,” he corrects, watching me with a bemused smile. “Homemade, of course.”

I arch an eyebrow, still trying to process. “Okay… but it’s chicken noodle soup for breakfast?”

“That it is. It’s packed with sodium and electrolytes,” Elliot informs me. “To help you rehydrate.”

“Okay, sure, I guess…” I trail off, reluctantly clutching the spoon. My eyes drift to the clock on the wall, to see it’s only eight in the morning. “You see… soup is not really a breakfast food.”

Elliot groans. “How about you try some before you start overthinking. Trust me, you’ll feel better afterward.”

With a resigned sigh, I dip the spoon into the savory broth, steam curling enticingly around my face. I scoop up a piece of carrot, wondering if I’ve ever had carrot for breakfast before. As I bring it to my lips, I blow gently before taking in a mouthful. The savory warmth glides down effortlessly. Without a second thought, I eagerly take another mouthful. The second spoonful is even better than the first.

Elliot sits at the end of the bed, satisfied that I’m eating his soup. As I sink into the bed and finish my breakfast, my attention is abruptly drawn to the sound of heavy breathing, almost a snort, from the bedroom door.

I’m taken aback by the sight of a plump little pug waddling into the room.

“Um, there’s a dog in your bedroom,” I say, half-convinced I’m losing my grip on reality. “Has he been here all along?”

“She. That’s Margaret Anne,” Elliot replies with amusement.

“Margaret Anne?” I repeat with a laugh. “You’ve named your pug Margaret Anne?”

“She actually belongs to my neighbor,” he explains with a grin spread across his face. “Sometimes she wanders over. Don’t worry, she doesn’t bite.”

I set the tray on the nightstand with a soft thud and hop out of bed, drawn to the cute, chubby creature inside the room. Kneeling, I extend my hand cautiously, eager not to startle her. I gently scratch behind her ear, feeling the warmth of her fawn-colored fur beneath my fingertips.

“Oh my gosh, what a delightful presence you are, Miss Margaret Anne. With a name like that, I feel like I should curtsy before royalty,” I say, laughter dancing through my voice as she leans into my touch, content and regal in her own charming way.

“Just remember you’re not wearing pants,” Elliot snickers.

I snap my gaze in his direction, pressing my lips together playfully, then lean down to pull the shirt over my legs as much as I can.

“You know, I always dreamed of having a dog, but my mother swore she was allergic. Sometimes, I wish we had a normal upbringing,” I admit wistfully. “It was all about dinner parties and acting proper for society.”

Elliot observes me quietly. “Owning a pet is like having a child. As much as I’ve always wanted one, my schedule and frequent trips to Europe make it impossible.”