*Dove*
When I step into the penthouse, the aroma of spices hits my sinuses. I smile when I hear Miles curse from the kitchen. I shake my head and drop my handbag by the front door. What is this man up to?
I pad along the floorboards until I reach the kitchen where I find Miles hovering over the stovetop with his back to me. Deciding I want to enjoy this moment of my husband cooking me dinner, I lean against the wall and fold my arms over my chest. He’s still wearing a black button-down from work but he has the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing the thick veins lining his forearms.
God, I hope he has a few buttons undone. It drives me crazy when he wears his shirt like that.
His hair is a mess atop his head, likely from the stress of trying to cook dinner before I got home. Talking to Dylan downstairs just now gave him some extra time to finish up, but it seems something is going wrong if he’s cursing loud enough for me to hear across the penthouse.