By the time Damon and Leo emerged from the basement, showered and dressed in casual Sunday clothes, the aroma of roasted coffee filled the kitchen.
Helen was sitting at the breakfast nook, looking remarkably fresh for someone who had claimed to be dying of a champagne headache two hours ago. She was scrolling through her iPad, a half-eaten croissant on the plate in front of her.
"There they are!" Helen chirped, looking up. "I was beginning to think you two had run off to join a circus. What were you doing down there for so long?"
Damon froze in the doorway, his hand tightening on the doorframe. The memory of Leo's hands on his wrists, the heavy weight of the barbell, and the whisper of "Mine" was still thrumming in his veins.
"Just spotting him," Leo said smoothly, squeezing past Damon to get to the fridge. He grabbed a carton of orange juice. "Damon is a beast on the bench press. It was inspiring."
