CHAPTER 44: STOCKING UP ON CHAOS

I woke up to the faint sound of her breathing. Slow. Steady. Too perfect.

For a second, I thought I’d dreamed yesterday — the suitcases, the arguments, the smug smile — but then I felt the weight beside me and yeah, no, reality was worse.

She was there. In my bed. Wearing one of my t-shirts like she’d been born in it, hair a gorgeous mess across the pillow. And she was... God.

I rolled onto my side without thinking, my eyes tracing the curve of her cheek, the soft arch of her brow, down to the tiny gold hoops in her ears. Then her nose — that annoyingly perfect button nose — and then...

Her lips.

Oh. Her lips.

I stared like an idiot, my brain helpfully reminding me how they’d felt under mine before. How warm. How soft. How distracting.

And then my gaze drifted up again — and froze.

Because she was awake.

And smiling.

Like she’d just caught me in the middle of a crime.

"Good morning, babe," she said, her voice still heavy with sleep.

I swallowed. "Morning."

Her smile tilted into something wicked. "You were staring."

"No," I lied instantly.

"Yes," she countered, not even opening her eyes all the way. "You were staring at me like I’m breakfast. Which, to be fair, I could be."

I coughed into my fist. "You’re insane."

She tapped her lips with one finger, slow and deliberate. "Where’s my good morning kiss?"

I hesitated. "You’re... asking like you didn’t already steal three yesterday."

"Those don’t count," she said without missing a beat. "Yesterday wasn’t Day One. This is Day One. And if I’m going to survive three weeks of living here, I need proper morning treatment."

"Proper treatment?" I repeated.

She nodded. "Yup. At least one good morning kiss. Warm, sweet, slightly possessive."

I leaned over and gave her a quick peck.

Her expression was flat. "That’s it?"

"You said good morning kiss—"

"I said proper. That was a drive-by."

"Drive-by?"

She sat up, ruffling her hair like she was in a shampoo commercial. "A good morning kiss should make me forget what day it is. It should make me question if we even need to get out of bed."

"That’s... specific."

"Mm-hm," she hummed. "Try again."

I rolled my eyes but leaned in again. This time, I kissed her deeper, slower, until I could feel her smiling against my mouth. And then, before I did something stupid, I pulled back.

Her gaze immediately dropped.

Down.

I followed it and—oh.

Great.

"Interesting," she said, grinning like a cat who just saw the canary. "Morning wood?"

I cleared my throat. "It’s... morning. That’s normal."

She bit her lip, obviously fighting a laugh. "Normal, sure. But I’m going to take it personally."

"Don’t," I said quickly, my ears burning.

She tilted her head, her hair falling over one shoulder. "Too late. I’ve decided it’s for me."

"It’s not—"

"Kai," she cut in, "we’re literally in bed together, you were just staring at my mouth like it owed you money, and now you’re—" she gestured vaguely under the blanket, "—all... that. Own it."

I groaned into my hands. "Why did I agree to this three weeks thing?"

"Because you love me," she said cheerfully, flopping back down and tugging the blanket higher. "Also because deep down you know you’re not surviving without me."

"Surviving?" I scoffed. "I’m not sure I’ll make it past day one."

She smiled with that dangerous softness that always got me. "Oh, you will. I’ll make sure of it."

And I had no idea if that was a promise or a threat.

---

She rolled out of bed like she’d been awake for hours, grabbing her phone and stretching with a little hum that made my thoughts derail.

"Breakfast time," she announced.

"You’re cooking?" I asked warily.

"Obviously. I can’t live on your sad bachelor diet for three weeks."

"My diet is fine."

"You had instant noodles for dinner the night before I came over," she said without looking back. "That’s not a diet, that’s a cry for help."

She padded toward the kitchen, bare feet soft against the floor, my t-shirt riding up just enough to make my brain reboot.

I leaned on the doorway, watching her move — precise, confident, humming softly to herself. And somewhere between the way she picked the pan and the way her hair caught the morning light, it hit me.

She’d make a terrifyingly great wife.

And I hated that my brain even went there.

Because that thought wasn’t the "oh yeah, she’d be good at chores" kind — it was the "oh no, I can actually picture it and it feels too natural" kind. The kind that made me feel like maybe she’d planned this entire three-week stunt just to get me used to the idea.

She opened the fridge, stood there for a moment, and then turned her head toward me like she was about to announce my impending doom.

"Kai," she said sweetly. Too sweetly.

"Yes...?"

"You have nothing."

I frowned. "What do you mean nothing?"

"I mean—" she swung the fridge door wider so I could see the sad reality — a lonely bottle of water, a half-empty jar of mayonnaise, and a carton of eggs with one egg. One. Egg.

"That’s not nothing," I argued. "That’s... minimalist living."

She gave me a look that could have withered plants. "That’s single man survival mode, and it ends today."

"Why? We could just—"

"No. Grocery shopping. Now."

I rubbed my face. "Val, it’s eight in the morning."

"And the store’s open. We’re going." She shut the fridge with dramatic finality. "Shower and get dressed."

I groaned. "You’re acting like you live here."

"I do," she said simply. "For three weeks."

I opened my mouth to argue, but she was already walking toward the bathroom, tossing the words over her shoulder —

"Or..." she said slowly, "we could save time and shower together."

I froze. "...What?"

She peeked around the doorway, smirking like she knew exactly what she was doing. "You heard me."

I blinked. "...You’re joking."

"Am I?" Her tone was playful, but her eyes... her eyes made me think there was at least a 40% chance she was dead serious.

"Val—"

"What? It’s eco-friendly," she said with complete fake innocence. "We’d save water, time... maybe you’d even start your day in a good mood."

I stared. "You’re insane."

She just grinned and disappeared into the bathroom, calling out, "You’ve got five minutes to decide, babe!"

Five minutes.

I had no idea if she was bluffing. And that was exactly the problem with Celestia Valentina Moreau — you could never tell until it was too late.

---

A litter over fifteen minutes later, I was behind the wheel of Celestia’s blue GLE, still wondering how my life had turned into this. She sat in the passenger seat like she was queen of the road, sunglasses on, hair loose, and smirking every time I glanced at her.

She dangled the keys earlier with a "You’re driving, babe," like she was testing me. I didn’t argue — mostly because I was still recovering from the mental trauma of that shower invitation.

The store wasn’t crowded, which was nice. I grabbed a cart, but before I could start pushing it, Celestia hooked her arm through mine and took over steering like she didn’t trust me not to crash it into a display of cereal.

We’d barely made it to the produce section when a voice called from behind us.

} "Kai?"

I turned, and there was Naomi — my older sister — standing with a small basket in hand, looking at me like she’d just spotted a rare animal in the wild.

"Naomi," I said slowly, like maybe if I kept my tone neutral she wouldn’t immediately start something.

Her eyes went from me to Celestia, then down to our linked arms, then back up again. "You’re grocery shopping."

"It’s not a big deal," I said.

"It’s a miracle," she corrected, walking closer. "Last time you voluntarily stepped into a grocery store, you were thirteen and mom bribed you with ice cream."

Celestia smiled sweetly. "I dragged him here. He didn’t stand a chance."

Naomi laughed, shaking her head. "Good work. Honestly, thank you for your service."

I groaned. "You two don’t need to form an alliance."

"Oh, we’ve already started one," Celestia said with mock seriousness, then tilted her head toward Naomi. "What brings you here?"

"Same as you," Naomi said. "Food run. My fridge’s been giving sad bachelor energy for weeks."

"Sad bachelor energy," I muttered. "I’m starting to feel personally attacked."

Naomi gave me a pointed look. "If the label fits."

Within minutes, the three of us were moving through aisles, Naomi occasionally tossing things into our cart like she lived with us. Celestia didn’t stop her, which was suspicious.

When we were done, Naomi insisted on riding back with us — her place was on the way, but she clearly wanted to "hang out," which in Naomi-speak meant "interrogate my little brother in front of his girlfriend."

Back at my place, Naomi dropped her stuff on the kitchen counter and looked around like she was taking mental notes.

"This place actually looks... livable," she said.

"That’s because I’m here," Celestia said instantly.

I sighed. "Of course it is."

Naomi smirked. "I like her."

Yeah. That was my nightmare — Naomi liking Celestia meant the chaos in my life just got a permanent cheerleader.

---

To be continued...