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It smells like coffee. I blink, looking around the room. It takes me a few moments to remember that I live with Enzo now. This is his room. It’s our room, I guess, but it still doesn’t feel like it.
I hear the shower running and roll over, finding a mug of warm coffee waiting for me. I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. It was thoughtful of him. I sit up and take a sip.
The water stops, and a moment later, he emerges from the bathroom, towel low on his hips. “Hey. Did I wake you?”
I shake my head. “No. Thanks for the coffee.”
He turns around, going to the dresser, and I take a moment to just look at the man. Clearly, he takes care of himself. He’s solid, well-defined muscle. I’ve gotten a good look at the smattering of dark hair on his chest, but in the
