The morning light filtered in soft and golden through the sheer curtains, casting gentle patterns across the floorboards. It was quiet — the kind of rare silence that made time feel like it had slowed just for them.
Erin stirred first.
She didn't open her eyes right away. Her body was still warm, curled against something firmer than a pillow, and the steady rhythm of a heartbeat vibrated softly beneath her cheek. The scent of Xander wrapped around her again, but it was different in the morning — mellow, clean, but still distinctly him.
It wasn't until her mind finally caught up with her body that her eyes flew open.
She was wrapped in his arms.
Still.
They hadn't moved all night.
One of his arms was cradled beneath her head, the other slung over her waist with a protective hold that wasn't possessive — just grounding. Her thigh was draped over one of his, and somehow, in their sleep, they'd managed to tangle even closer.
She blinked, then tried to shift a little — only for a low, sleep-rough voice to rumble against her ear.
"Don't move."
Erin froze.
Xander's lips were near her hair, his hand tightening slightly around her waist as he exhaled.
"Five more minutes," he murmured.
"You're awake?" she asked, still half-dazed.
He chuckled lightly. "Have been for a while."
She tilted her head up, trying to read his expression. But he didn't let her move far — he caught her chin and tilted it toward him with a lazy smirk.
"You drool a little when you sleep, princess."
Her eyes widened in horror. "What?! I do not!"
"You do," he said, grinning now. "Right here." He pointed at his shirt collar.
Erin groaned and tried to bury her face in his chest again. "You're the worst."
"And yet you still slept in my arms all night," he teased, voice gentler now.
She went quiet.
Because yes. She had.
And not once had she thought about escaping.
Xander watched her, his gaze softening. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead — light, lingering — and when he pulled back, there was something unreadable in his eyes.
"You looked peaceful," he said quietly. "Last night. While you were sleeping."
Erin bit her lip. "So did you."
He smirked again, but it didn't reach his eyes this time. "I don't sleep well, normally."
Her heart skipped. "You did last night?"
"Yeah."
Another silence.
But this one was fragile — like a moment suspended in glass.
Then Erin asked, voice hesitant, "Do you… do this often?"
"What? Hold girls in my bed?" he asked, brow raised.
She frowned. "I didn't mean—"
"No," he cut in softly. "I don't."
She blinked.
"I've had flings. Physical things," he admitted. "But not this." His thumb brushed over her hip beneath the blanket. "Not closeness. Not… comfort."
Erin didn't know what to say to that. So instead, she did something neither of them expected.
She reached up and touched his cheek.
It was the smallest gesture. But to Xander, it must have felt like everything. He leaned into her touch like it was the first time someone had ever done it.
"You should get used to sleeping well, then," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Because for the now… you've got me."
His lips twitched. "Is that a promise?"
"Not exactly," she replied, voice teasing.
Xander pulled her closer, burying his face in her neck.
"Well," he murmured. "I'll still hold on to that."
—
Erin tried not to die of embarrassment as she shuffled quickly into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her and locking it like Xander was some threat she had to contain.
She leaned against the cold door for a second, pressing the back of her hand to her flaming cheeks.
What is even happening?
One second she was curled in his arms, melting at the gentlest kiss on her forehead. The next, he was casually asking, "Can I join you?" as she got out of bed — like they were… a thing. An us.
Her body still tingled from the night before. Not just from what happened — or nearly happened — but from the fact that she'd fallen asleep in his arms. Peacefully. Without guilt. Without fear.
That alone should've scared her.
But it didn't.
And that terrified her even more.
She shook the thought away and freshened up, mentally listing the most unromantic, mind-numbing thoughts she could manage just to get her face to cool down.
When she came out twenty minutes later, Xander was nowhere in sight. The bed was neatly remade — suspiciously neat, like he'd smoothed every wrinkle with intentional effort — and the room was too quiet.
That was, until she walked downstairs.
He was already there, dressed in a casual black tee and sweatpants, leaning lazily against the kitchen counter like he'd always belonged there.
Erin blinked.
So… the guest bathroom, then.
He'd let her use the main one.
Again.
He looked up when he saw her, and smiled — not his cocky CEO smirk, but a gentler, sleepier grin. The kind that made something unsteady thrum in her chest.
"You survived," he said.
"Barely," she muttered, walking past him toward the fridge.
"Is that how you usually run to the bathroom?" he asked, trailing behind her.
"I wasn't running."
"You were blushing like your hair was on fire."
"I don't blush."
"You turned the exact shade of your favorite strawberry jam."
"Shut up."
He laughed — an actual laugh, light and unfiltered — and then, without warning, wrapped his arms around her waist from behind as she opened the fridge.
"What are you doing?" she asked, immediately trying to squirm away, but failing. He was warm, and he smelled good, and her body was stupidly comfortable with him now.
"Helping," he said, resting his chin on her shoulder.
"You? Helping in the kitchen?"
"I want to cook with you."
Erin scoffed. "You want to watch me cook."
"No, no," he said, now reaching forward to grab an egg carton. "I'm fully committed to being your sous chef. Just tell me what to do."
She stared at him suspiciously.
He looked completely serious.
"Crack eggs?"
He walked over to the island counter and did exactly that. Like, actually cracked them cleanly into the bowl — no shells.
She raised an eyebrow.
"I'm not totally useless," he said, smirking. "I learned some stuff. Mostly to impress women."
"Wow," she said dryly. "You really are the romantic type."
"Did it work?"
"I don't know. Have you impressed me?"
He turned and leaned on the counter again, staring at her for a moment too long.
She immediately broke eye contact and focused on the butter.
He laughed again, pleased.
"Also," he added, "I just like watching you move around the kitchen. It's like a dance. Especially when you're pretending I don't exist."
She pointed the spatula at him. "Keep flirting and you'll be in charge of cleaning."
"I don't mind. As long as I get to see you flustered again."
Erin was about to fire back another smart retort when the front door opened.
"Morning!" came Evan's loud, familiar voice.
Xander groaned and dropped his forehead to the counter. "Of course. Perfect timing."
"Whoa—" Evan froze as he stepped into the kitchen and spotted them both, mid-breakfast-making. "Did I walk into the wrong house? Or is this domestic bliss I see?"
Erin immediately tried to put distance between her and Xander, but he was stubborn — his arms were still around her waist, and he didn't seem to care who saw.
"You're up early," Xander said lazily.
Evan squinted. "You're cuddling in the kitchen. What happened to you?"
"None of your business," Xander muttered.
"Is this why you didn't respond to any of our texts last night?" Evan said, walking to the fridge. "Because you were busy playing househusband?"
Erin cleared her throat and escaped his arms at last, focusing on flipping the eggs. "He's not playing anything."
Xander's lips twitched. "Are you sure? I think I'd make a pretty good househusband."
Evan barked a laugh. "You? You nearly burned toast last week."
"And yet, here I am, cracking eggs like a pro."
Evan gave Erin a mock-sympathetic look. "Blink twice if he's holding you hostage."
"Would you stop?" Erin said, finally laughing.
"Oh no, I'm all for this," Evan said, sitting on the stool by the island. "I've never seen my brother look this… functional before ten a.m. This is true progress."
"Eat something and be quiet," Xander muttered, handing him a plate.
Evan took it and grinned at Erin. "He's really serious about you, you know."
"Evan—" Xander warned.
But Erin had already gone quiet.
Her fingers stilled over the pan, her breath catching just slightly.
And Xander saw it — the hesitation. The uncertainty. The walls coming back up.
So he walked over behind her again, gently took the spatula from her hand, and whispered just loud enough for her to hear:
"I am serious."
She didn't turn to look at him.
But she didn't pull away this time either.