The French toast sizzles in the pan, the sweet scent of cinnamon and vanilla filling our kitchen like a promise. Four months since my world imploded, and I’m still finding comfort in the simple act of making breakfast.
“That slls incredible,” Lana purrs, wrapping her arms around my waist from behind. Her body presses against mine, warm and soft in just her oversized t-shirt. She nuzzles her face between my shoulder blades, and I feel her smile against my skin.
“Almost ready,” I say, flipping the bread with practiced ease. “Coffee’s already on the table.”
She squeezes tighter before reluctantly letting go. “You spoil .”
“You deserve it,” I reply automatically.
It’s beco our morning ritual. I wake up early, make breakfast while Lana sleeps in, and we eat together before she heads off to the studio or I start my day. Simple, predictable, safe.
Morgan. Even thinking her na sends an electric current of anxiety through my chest. It’s been four months since that night at her beach house, four months since I discovered the elaborate web of manipulation she’d spun around my life. Four months of looking over my shoulder, jumping at shadows, expecting to see that flash of red hair around every corner.
“Earth to Adam,” Lana says, snapping her fingers in front of my face. She’s seated at the table now, head tilted in concern. “You went sowhere else for a minute there.”
I force a smile, sliding the French toast onto our plates. “Sorry. Just zoned out.”
She studies with those piercing blue eyes that seem to see straight through . “Thinking about her again?”
I don’t bother denying it. Lana and I promised each other honesty after everything that happened. “Yeah. It’s just weird that we haven’t heard anything. No stalking, no ssages, nothing.”
“Maybe she finally got the ssage,” Lana says, drizzling maple syrup over her breakfast. “Or maybe the restraining order actually worked.”
I sit across from her, our knees touching under the small kitchen table. “Maybe.”
The restraining order was the only thing the police could offer us. Without concrete evidence of the rape, the GPS tracking, or the cyberstalking, their hands were tied. “He-said, she-said” was the phrase the officer used, his eyes avoiding mine as he explained that my allegations wouldn’t hold up without proof.
When we looked for the GPS it wasn’t there.
“This is amazing,” Lana moans around a mouthful of French toast, her eyes closing in exaggerated pleasure.
“Thank you.”
Moving back in with Lana felt like the only safe option after fleeing Morgan’s beach house. We fell back into our relationship with surprising ease, both of us changed by what we’d been through, both of us determined to make it work this ti.
I’ve stopped writing, though. The words just won’t co anymore. Every ti I open a docunt, I rember all those late-night conversations with RedheadloverX, pouring my heart out to soone I thought was a friend, soone who understood . The betrayal still stings too fresh to revisit that part of myself.
“I have that shoot with Derek today,” Lana says casually, taking a sip of her coffee. “The one I told you about last week?”
“The shower scene, right?” I ask, surprised by how normal this conversation feels now.
She nods, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. “You’re still okay with it?”
“As long as it’s not Leo, it doesn’t bother ,” I admit.
This is the biggest change in our relationship. After that night in the hotel, when I broke down in Lana’s arms, we started talking, really talking, about everything. My fantasies, her work, the jealousy and insecurities that had driven us apart before.
It turns out that once you’ve survived a stalker, conversations about kinks and boundaries seem a lot less scary.
“Maybe I’ll bring ho the raw footage.” Her eyes darken with suggestion. “We could watch it together.”
My breath catches. “I’d like that.”
Lana beams, clearly pleased with my response. She’s been like this since we got back together, more attentive, more affectionate, more... everything. At first, I chalked it up to the trauma we’d shared, the relief of finding our way back to each other. But four months in, her intensity hasn’t diminished. If anything, it’s grown stronger.
“I need to get ready,” she says, glancing at the clock. She stands, circling the table to plant a kiss on my lips that tastes of maple syrup and coffee. “Thank you for breakfast. And for being you.”
As she walks away, I can’t help but notice how she glances back at three tis before disappearing into the bedroom. It’s sothing she does now, these little checks as if she’s afraid I might vanish if she doesn’t keep in her sight.
I start clearing the dishes, falling into the comfortable routine we’ve established. Lana gets ready for work while I clean up, then I’ll kiss her goodbye and find sothing to do with my free ti.
I stare at my phone, thumb hovering over the screen. Sarah’s contact information glows up at like a challenge. We haven’t really talked much since the hospital four months ago when she warned about Morgan.
Turns out she was right all along.
I type out a quick ssage: “Hey sis, you free for coffee this afternoon? Miss your face.”
Simple. Casual. Like I’m not crawling back with my tail between my legs.
The reply cos almost instantly: “Sure, I can do that.”
Thank god, I didn’t know if she was going to tell to fuck off.
Setting my phone down, I glance around our apartnt. Lana’s influence is everywhere, her scented candles, her throw pillows, frad photos of us together. It’s cozy, but sotis it feels like I’m living in a bubble. Just the two of us, insulated from the outside world.
I hear the water shut off in the bathroom, signaling Lana’s finished with her shower. Taking a deep breath, I decide to tell her about my plans with Sarah.
When Lana erges from the bedroom, she’s transford from my sleepy, syrup-loving girlfriend into the polished porn star the world knows. Her makeup is flawless, her hair styled in loose waves that catch the light. She’s wearing a sundress that’s modest enough for the drive to the studio but easily removed once she arrives.
“You look beautiful,” I say, and I an it.
She beams at , crossing the room to press herself against one more ti. “Thank you, baby.” Her fingers trace the line of my jaw. “What are you going to do today?”
“Actually, I just texted Sarah. We’re eting for coffee this afternoon.”
The change is subtle but imdiate. Lana’s smile freezes, her fingers stilling against my skin
“Sarah?” she repeats, her voice deliberately light. “That’s... nice. You two haven’t talked much lately.”
“Yeah, I figured it was ti to reconnect. She was right about Morgan, after all.”
Lana’s arms tighten around my waist. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Going out alone?”
I frown slightly. “What do you an?”
She bites her lip, suddenly looking vulnerable despite her cara-ready appearance. “It’s just... Morgan’s still out there sowhere, Adam. We haven’t heard from her, which is good, but what if she’s just waiting? Watching?”
A chill runs down my spine at the thought. “The restraining order…”
“Is just a piece of paper,” Lana finishes, her eyes wide with genuine worry. “It won’t stop her if she’s determined.”
She’s not wrong. The thought of Morgan lurking sowhere, plotting her next move, has kept up more nights than I’d like to admit.
“I can’t just stay inside forever,” I say gently. “Besides, it’s a public coffee shop. What could happen?”
Lana’s expression softens, and she reaches up to cup my cheek. “Alright, but just... text when you get to the coffee shop, okay? And then text when you’re leaving and again when you get ho.”
“You’ll be in the middle of shooting,” I remind her, feeling a strange mix of appreciation and mild frustration at her protectiveness.
“It’s fine.” Her eyes lock with mine, intense and unwavering. “You’re still sharing your location with , right?”
I nod, rembering how this beca our system after everything went down with Morgan. When Lana finally returned my phone to , after checking it thoroughly for any tracking software Morgan might have installed, we’d both been jumpy, paranoid. The location sharing was a compromise that made us both feel safer.
“Yeah, it’s still on,” I confirm, pulling out my phone to double-check. The little map shows my blue dot pulsing steadily in our house. “See? You can track my every move.”
Lana visibly relaxes, her shoulders dropping as she presses a kiss to my forehead. “Thank you. I just... I couldn’t handle it if sothing happened to you again.”
There’s sothing in her voice, a thread of desperation that makes wonder if she’s more afraid than she’s letting on. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close.
“Hey, it’s just coffee with my sister. I’ll be fine.”
She nods against my chest, then pulls back reluctantly. “I should go. I’m going to be late.”
At the door, she turns back one more ti, her eyes sweeping over like she’s committing to mory. “I love you, Adam. More than anything.”
“I love you too,” I reply automatically, though sothing about her intensity makes my skin prickle. “Have a good shoot.”
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