EMILY
I stared across the island, my chin resting on my palm, watching Nicholas stir a pot of marinara like it was the most natural thing in the world. Shirtless, his broad shoulders flexed with every movement, and I swear the man belonged in a painting. Or a daydream. Possibly both.
Definitely on the top ten list of things I liked.
He’d carried me out of bed this morning, literally scooped me up like some smug, bossy prince, muttering something about how today, I didn’t have to lift a finger. “Just relax,” he’d whispered into my hair, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I’ve got everything covered.”
It was cute. Very cute. But after fifteen minutes of doing absolutely nothing, I was starting to lose my mind.
I slid off the stool and reached for the cutting board, grabbing a tomato like I
