Stay for the Burnt Toast

The train was cancelled and so was the careful version of them.

Maeve was thirty-nine. Callum was not this Callum. This was Reece, forty-two, and they had split in May over a fight that had been about the dishwasher and also about the fact that she came harder when he was mean in bed. The rain had put them under the same station awning. He offered the car. She said only if he stopped being polite.

In his kitchen she kissed him first. It was not soft. He lifted her onto the counter and licked her until she came with a hand in his hair, then fucked her there, deep, eyes on hers. She came again. He came inside her and did not pull away.

"Stay," he said.

"I'm staying. Make it mean the morning."

He woke her with his mouth and then his cock, slow, a hand on her face. She came and kissed him after, which was the brave part. The toast burned. Neither of them moved to save it. She stole his shirt. He cleared a drawer without making a speech. She put her toothbrush in it and rode him once more before the rain stopped, and the morning counted.

Maeve did not go home. Reece fucked her in the shower and on the sofa and once, ridiculous, against the fridge. She came each time and kissed him after, because that was the rule she had set without a speech. He made eggs that survived. She ate them in his shirt and put his hand back between her legs. He said May had been a fight, not a finish. She said then finish this. He carried her to the bed and did, slow, her name in his mouth. She stayed the Monday. The train ran. They did not catch it. At noon she rode him and made him say he wanted the morning as much as the counter. He said it. The drawer had a toothbrush. The toast burned again on Tuesday, and she laughed into his neck, and the morning counted twice.

Maeve cleared the drawer properly and Reece fucked her against it, laughing, her shirt his, his cock deep. She came and kissed him. The train app stayed closed. She met him at lunch and sucked him in the car park, then went back to the flat and rode him until the morning was a habit. He said the dishwasher could stay unsolved. She said the bed could not. They burned toast on Wednesday on purpose, a private joke, and he licked sugar off her wrist that was not there and then licked her until she came, and the romance was explicit and stayed-for. She missed another train. She did not check the board. His hand was under her shirt on the platform, and the morning had already won.

They burned the toast on purpose three mornings running. Maeve called it the ritual. Reece called it proof. He fucked her on the counter before the bread went in, and she came, and the smoke alarm was a risk they accepted. She kept the toothbrush. He kept clearing space. On Thursday she wore his shirt to the corner shop and came back wet, and he bent her over the table and finished what the awning had started. The May fight stayed a fight. The bed did not. She kissed him after, every time, because that was the clause. The train board could wait. His hand was already under the shirt, and the morning had her name on it.

Maeve stopped checking the train board. Reece stopped offering lifts that were really questions. She stayed, and he fucked her in the morning, and the toast burned, and she kissed him after. The drawer had more than a toothbrush now. A shirt. A plug she had laughed about and then used. He fucked her with it in once, slow, and she came and kissed him and said May could stay in May. The kitchen counter had a new job. The awning had been the excuse. The bed was the decision. She rode him on Sunday with the smoke alarm chirping and neither of them got up to stop it until they were done.

Reece burned the toast and Maeve laughed and he fucked her against the counter while it smoked, and she came, and the alarm finally went, and they opened a window and did not stop. She kissed him after, smoke in her hair. The drawer was full. The train app was deleted. She said the second chance had a burnt smell and she liked it. He said he would buy worse bread. She rode him that night and made him say he meant the mornings. He said it into her mouth. The awning was a story they told. The bed was the life. She stayed through the weekend and did not pack a bag.

The weekend had no trains in it. Maeve rode Reece on the Sunday morning while the bread burned and the alarm chirped and she kissed him after she came, smoke in both their mouths. He came inside her. They opened the window and ate the edges of the toast and fucked again on the sofa, slower, his hand on her face. The drawer was a life. The May fight was a story. The awning was how it restarted. The bed was where it stayed. She deleted the train app in front of him, a joke that was not a joke. He burned the next loaf on purpose. She laughed. The morning had won, and it kept winning.

Maeve bought worse bread. Reece burned it. They fucked on the counter while it smoked, and she came, and the alarm went, and they opened the window and kept going until he came inside her. She kissed him with smoke in her hair. The train app stayed deleted. The drawer had a shirt, a toothbrush, the plug, and a hair tie. She rode him that night and made him say the mornings out loud. He said them. The awning was an anecdote. The bed was the argument they had won. On Monday she did not pack. He did not ask. The toast burned. She laughed. The morning counted, and it counted again, and the smell of it was theirs.

She burned the next loaf herself. He laughed, turned her, and fucked her against the counter while the alarm chirped and the window stood open. She came and kissed him after, which was the clause. He came inside her. They ate the crusts. The train board stayed dark. The drawer stayed full. The morning had her, and she had it, and the smell of burnt bread was the most romantic thing in the flat. On Tuesday she rode him before the bread went in, and the alarm never got a chance, and she kissed him with her cunt still around him, and the second chance stopped being a question. She stayed the night without a bag, and the morning found them exactly where the toast had burned. He made more. She let it burn. She laughed into the smoke and kissed him anyway. She meant it.