Eight Years Later
Sipping the steaming mug of black coffee that was nearly empty, I let my eyes fall on Parker's back as he stood at the sink, hands within the soapy suds with a cloth, washing up the plates left over from breakfast; our dishwasher had broken down. Today was Monday. Parker worked on Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and some Saturdays, while I worked on Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays.
Picking myself up out of the black kitchen stool, I padded across the kitchen towards him. My left hand landed on his lower back, pressing the loose grey fabric of his t-shirt against his warm skin. His dark eyes landed on me. His face lit up into a cheeky grin.
I looked up at him and pointedly handed him my empty mug. "Nearly done?" I glanced down at the heap of bubbles his wrists were sub
