I was deciding between granola and yogurt and bran cereal when hands clamped over my hips and King stuck his face into the fridge beside mine.
“Find treasure or somethin’, babe?”
I laughed. “I’m trying to decide what to make you for breakfast.”
“I want pie.”
I tipped my head to look up over my shoulder at him. “What?”
“Pie,” he repeated before kissing me hard and moving away from me. “Apple pie.”
I closed the fridge and turned to lean against it with my hands on my hips as I watched him cross to the dock station I had on the counter under my ancient microwave. He began tinkering with my old iPod, his lip between his teeth as he scrolled through my music.
“King, apple pie for breakfast isn’t a thing,” I informed him.
“Sure it is, you make it for me,” was his illogical but somewhat rational reply.
A giggle rose in my throat but I swallowed it down. “What are you, twelve? Adults eat real food for breakfast, not dessert.”
King didn’t shift his head up to look at me but he shot me a sidelong glance that burned through me. “You need me to show you again how much of a man I am, babe? Remember, I’m eighteen, I can go all day and all fuckin’ night, you need me too.”
He watched me shiver with arrogant satisfaction before he added, “Do a better job of it if I had pie.”
I threw up my hands as I gave into laughter. “Okay, fine, I’ll make you pie but we have to go out for apples.”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he plugged in my iPod and Elvis Presley’s Burnin’ Love came over the speakers, one of my all-time favorite songs. He’d known I loved Elvis but I loved even more that he’d put on that particular song this morning. I opened my mouth to say so but he had already disappeared out the side door into the garden.
I shook my head at him but couldn’t stop smiling as I pulled out the butter, lard, salt and flour to make the crust.
Minutes later, I heard the screen door slam and looked over my shoulder to see King amble into the kitchen carrying a small crate filled with different apple varietals. When I frowned up at him, he shrugged.
“Apples,” he said inanely.
“Yes,” I agreed. “Why do you have a box of apples on hand?”
He cocked his head at me like I was the one being silly. “Babe, I give you an apple a day. I gotta stock up. It’s cool and dark in my trunk so I keep ‘em in there.”
I blinked and blinked, trying to stop the flood of tears threatening to drown me.
“Cress, it’s not a big deal, babe. All the best students give their favorite teachers apples, yeah?” he joked.
I shook my head unable to speak because I didn’t want to dissolve into tears our first morning together.
“Besides, you smell like ‘em. Ever since I got you on the back of my bike that first night at the bar, I’ve been obsessed with them.”
“God, you’re perfect,” I blurted out.
King laughed, dropped the crate on the counter and caught me around the waist to hug me from behind, burying his face in my apple scented hair. “Only for you, babe.”
I sniffed back the tears but allowed myself to sink back into his hold for a moment before I shooed him away so I could finish the crust.
He poured us both coffees before he jumped up on the counter beside me to keep me company while I rolled out the dough. I loved having him close, loved having him reach out randomly to claim a kiss or rub flour off my face. We talked about his brothers in The Fallen, who were crazy but I’d learned last night that it was mostly in a good way. I asked him why he didn’t have any tattoos, and he’d laughed when he told me that there wasn’t anything he liked enough that he wanted it permanently on his skin. I made the filling while the crust rested in the fridge, making salted caramel to add into the apples, an idea that King reward with a long, deep kiss.
I had so much fun just hanging out with him that when there was a knock at my front door, I didn’t even think about going to answer it. It seemed like a normal, if beyond fantastic, morning between a customary couple.
“Babe, you sure you should answer that?” King called when I was already halfway to the door at the left end of the kitchen.
I halted immediately, turned to survey the student sitting (deliciously) bare chested on my counter then to look down at my outfit, which consisted of a short, pretty rose embroidered robe.
“Probably not,” I grinned at him. “Whoever it is will just go away when I don’t answer.”