Chapter 156 Domestic Routines

Chapter 156 Domestic Routines
Patrick: POV

I was finishing up the last details on dinner when I heard the front door open. 

Christina's cheerful humming drifted through our apartment, a sound I'd grown to associate with her good moods. 

Setting the serving spoon down, I leaned against the kitchen counter and watched as she bounced into view, practically glowing with satisfaction.

"Someone's in a good mood," I remarked, taking in her bright eyes and the slight flush on her cheeks. 

"What happened?"

Christina tossed her designer bag onto the couch and did a little twirl. 

"Emily, that opportunistic bitch who tried to set me up on blind dates without my consent? She's getting fired!" 

She clapped her hands together like a kid on Christmas morning. 

"HR finally finished their investigation."

I couldn't help but smile. 

After that Sinclair incident, Emily deserved whatever was coming to her. 

"That's great news," I said, genuinely pleased. 

The woman had caused Christina nothing but trouble, including that awkward confrontation in her office. 

"Karma's a bitch."

Christina made her way to the kitchen, her stomach growling audibly as she eyed the food I'd prepared. 

"God, that smells amazing. I'm starving."

"Dinner's been ready for a while," I told her, moving toward the microwave. 

"It's probably cold by now. Let me heat it up for you."

"Don't bother," she said, reaching for a plate. 

"I'm too hungry to wait. I'll eat it as is."

I intercepted her hand, shaking my head. 

"You shouldn't eat cold food. It's bad for your stomach." 

Without waiting for her response, I scooped a portion onto a plate and placed it in the microwave, setting the timer.

Christina pouted, clutching her stomach dramatically as she perched on one of the kitchen island's high stools. 

The expression made her look more adorable, almost vulnerable in a way that tugged at something in my chest. 

Her long hair was partially pulled back in a loose clip, with several strands escaping to frame her face. 

Even after a long day at work, she looked beautiful.

"You look like you're about to faint from hunger," I teased, reaching out to stroke her hair. 

"There are some macarons on the counter. You can have one while you wait."

She glanced at the colorful French cookies I'd brought home earlier, then shook her head. 

"It's too late to eat sweets. They'll keep me up all night." 

She looked at me curiously. 

"How do you know cold food is bad, anyway?"

"It's common knowledge," I said with a shrug.

The microwave beeped, and I retrieved her dinner, setting the steaming plate in front of her along with utensils and a glass of water. 

Just as she was about to dig in, my phone buzzed with an urgent meeting notification.

"Shit," I muttered, checking the details. 

"I need to take this. One of our international clients is having an emergency."

Christina nodded understandingly, already focused on her food. 

As I headed to my home office, I reflected on how seamlessly we'd settled into living together. 

The apartment was large enough that we each had our own space when needed, yet cozy enough to feel intimate. 

I'd given her free rein to redecorate as she saw fit, though she'd been surprisingly hesitant to make changes to my space.

Last night, I'd deliberately stayed up late working, so we slept in separate rooms.

Our arrangement felt natural, unforced – something I hadn't experienced in previous relationships.

My meeting ran longer than expected. 

By the time I wrapped up, almost an hour had passed. 

I grabbed a glass of milk from the kitchen, intending to head back to finish some paperwork, when I heard movement in the living room.

Christina had changed into workout clothes – a sports bra, tiny running shorts, and a loose tank top that revealed more than it concealed. 

She was setting up a fitness video on the TV, her back to me.

"I don't usually eat after eight," she was muttering to herself, "but I was so hungry. Now I need to burn off these calories or I'll feel guilty all night."

I stood frozen in the kitchen doorway, unable to look away as she stretched her arms above her head, the movement causing her tank top to ride up, revealing a glimpse of her toned midriff. 

The shorts hugged her curves perfectly, showcasing long, slender legs that seemed to go on forever.

As she bent down to adjust the volume, I found myself staring at the gentle curve of her back, the way her body moved with natural grace. 

I'd seen countless women in bikinis at beaches around the world, but something about Christina in her simple workout clothes affected me more deeply. 

Perhaps it was the intimacy of the moment – this wasn't a display for others; this was her natural state in what she thought was a private moment.

I felt a familiar heat rising within me, but tried to temper it with restraint. 

We lived together now. 

I couldn't pounce on her every time she looked attractive, which was basically all the time.

The fitness instructor on screen began a warm-up routine, and Christina followed along, her movements fluid and precise. 

I should have announced my presence or quietly returned to my office, but I remained rooted to the spot, mesmerized.

Then she turned around mid-movement and spotted me.

She froze, her cheeks instantly flushing red. 

Her eyes widened as they traveled from my face downward, and I suddenly remembered I was wearing only a towel around my waist, having planned to shower after my meeting.

We stared at each other in silence, the only sound coming from the perky fitness instructor cheerfully counting repetitions from the TV. 

The air between us seemed to thicken with unspoken tension.

"Patrick," she finally said, her voice slightly higher than normal. 

"Aren't you going to sleep yet?"

"Just finished some work stuff," I replied, trying to keep my voice casual even as I felt my ears growing warm. 

I gestured vaguely toward the TV. 

"Working out this late? Intense exercise before bed can stimulate your brain and make it harder to sleep."

"I know," she admitted, tugging self-consciously at her tank top. 

"I just ate too much and wanted to ease my guilt a little."

I found her concern about her perfect body endearing, especially when she was obviously in excellent shape. 

My eyes lingered on the barely visible outline of abs on her stomach, and I knew she caught my gaze when her breath hitched slightly.

Something changed in her expression as our eyes met again. 

There was recognition there – she knew exactly what I was thinking.

"Not tonight," she said firmly, though her flushed cheeks told a different story. 

"I need rest!"

I felt a mixture of disappointment and amusement at her preemptive shutdown, but I understood. 

We both had early mornings tomorrow.

I drained my water glass in one long gulp, my throat suddenly dry, and walked toward her. 

"No sex," I agreed, my voice dropping lower as I approached. 

"But can I kiss you?"