DISCLAIMER:
This book contains mature subject matter and triggering topics that may not be suitable for every reader.
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"What is it that I always tell you, Winona? You'll always come back to me. A bird never forgets its home."
Winona Horton ha...
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January 2011 • • •
Winona decided to bethe one who made breakfast this morning. Harry had been the one doing it for the past decade and today, she felt like taking care of him instead of it being the other way around. After their heartfelt conversation yesterday, it became painstakingly clear how little she had done for him, and she was wrought with guilt. It was too late to make up for the years he spent nurturing her into who she was today, but she had to start somewhere. She just hoped that he wouldn't her lack of effort hold it against her.
She wanted to at least try and move forward so they could start anew. Although she wasn't elated about being pregnant, there was nothing she could do now but accept her fate. What was the worst that could happen? The worst had already happened, hadn't it? All that was left for her was to take up her role as his wife. Maybe one day it would all make sense as he said. For now, however, her only option was to make do with what she had and see the upside of things.
She wasn't the best cook, but the pancakes she made looked decent enough. Shaping them as perfect circles was harder than she assumed. How does Harry do it? Despite their subpar shape, they tasted good, much to her surprise. She couldn't hold back her smile when she envisioned telling Harry that she had made them for him.
She made three for herself and five for Harry, knowing that he had a much bigger appetite than she did. After they were finished, she transferred them onto separate plates, beaming at her work.
"So this is where you are. I was worried when I woke up and you weren't in bed."
Winona's body went into a state of heightened awareness at the sound of Harry's voice, a husky timbre that sent shivers down her spine. She turned around to see him sauntering into the kitchen, a lazy confidence in his step that made her heart race. As he approached her, she couldn't help but notice his semi-clothed state, causing a warm blush to spread across her cheeks. She had seen his body many times before, but in this new stage of their relationship, she was still adjusting to the sight of her husband walking around the house with little to no clothing.
His body was beautiful though. Sinewy and sturdy as a result of years of hard work. His muscles flexed with every movement, and his skin was taut over his bones, as if he were a statue carved from marble.
She squeaked as he abruptly yanked her into his embrace. This time she did drop the spatula. "You shouldn't have woken up this early," Winona's speech was muffled by the wall that was his chest. "Harry, let me go. I was doing something."
"You're wearing my flannel," was his singular reply. He cupped the nape of her neck and tilted her head backward, meaning that she couldn't hide her gaze from him. A soft smile adorned his languorous face. "It looks nice on you. You should wear my clothes more often."
Winona stole a quick glance at her attire. "I just put on the first thing I came across."
Their clothes had been scattered all over the room and she didn't have the energy to look for her dress after rolling out of bed. His checkered grey and black flannel was close by, so she slipped it on.
