Stoking The Fire

Chapter Eight

Sunlight hitting me in the face finally brings me back to the land of the living, just enough to make me mutter sleepily and roll over. I snuggle back into the warmth and sigh happily, then start to drift back to sleep.

"Good morning." I hear from about a foot away, and I mutter sleepily.

"Hmmm.. good morning." It takes about ten whole seconds for realization to hit me like ice water, and my eyes pop open as I scramble backwards in reactionary panic, ending up on my ass on the floor on the other side of his bed.

I can hear him struggling to not laugh, and failing miserably, as his head pops over the side of bed. I flip him off for laughing at me, and that just sets him off harder. I just glare at him as I untangle myself from the comforter and sheets that I had half-drug off the bed in my quick descent, and finally stand. "It's not funny, Stokes." I retort.

"That's because you didn't see it from my end, Hanson." He wheezes, before finally composing himself. "Are you okay?"

"Just bruised my pride, I think. Uh, what..." I gesture wordlessly to the bed.

"You fell asleep while I was on the other line. I came back to hear you snoring softly, so I just hung up instead of trying to wake you up. When I got home this morning you were sleeping so soundly I didn't have the heart to wake you up, or the energy to carry you into the other room. So, I just scootched you over, covered you up, and let you go back to sleep. You barely noticed. Then I passed out myself, for a while." He shrugged a bit, like it was no big deal.

"Ri-ight. I assume then that whatever last night was all about is taken care of?"

"As much as it can be, for now." he states evasively, before stretching. At this point I almost wonder if he's doing it deliberately, because he knows I always try not to stare at him when he's shirtless, or if it's just tired innocence. I do hear a ghost of a chuckle following me as I wander off to start my morning routine, however.

Neither of us remembered to set the coffee maker the night before, and I'm in the kitchen rectifying that mistake when I hear him taking a shower. Several minutes later, I'm holding a steaming cup of liquid bliss under my nose, just taking a moment to enjoy the little pleasures in life, when I hear the shower shut off. Not usually a big deal, but did he leave the door open? Shaking my head, I take that first perfect sip, when he comes strolling into the kitchen, hair dripping wet, barely toweled off, said towel being loosely gripped around his waist with one hand. My eyes bulge as I inhale my coffee with a snort and start choking. I have to set the cup down as I try to catch my breath.

"Mhmmm, coffee... Kari, are you okay?"

I flap my hands about a bit for several seconds, before I'm finally able to lamely croak out "Hot!", then grab my cup and retreat out to the back yard, where I stand and shiver in the cool morning breeze while I try to regain some semblance of mental composure and dignity. Minutes later he joins me, placing my hoodie around my shoulders before standing next to me, and sipping his own coffee.

A quick side-eye tells me that he's fully clothed now, thank the gods, and I am eternally grateful. This has already been a hell of a morning, I don't know what other shocks I can take right now without completely losing my shit. I'm especially ashamed at the visceral reaction I had to the sight of him still half wet from the shower, hair dripping, towel han- Nope! We are not doing that to ourselves. We are absolutely NOT thinking about wet skin, or loose towels, or anything else right now!

I carefully clear my throat, shake my head, and take another sip of coffee. I can feel him staring at me and I turn to see him giving me the cocked eyebrow stare.

'The, swallowing the wrong way. I'm fine. Mostly. Will be. Yeah." I stutter out, nodding. I get a half-crooked smile and slightly narrowed eyes, but he leaves it alone and I'm grateful.