25

Amara's pov

Life was terrific. With Orian barefooted in the kitchen, messy hair, wet clothes sticking to his body just as mine did and for some odd reason, we never bothered to take them off because he mumbled something about cleaning up together, ooo, exciting.

I was stretched out on the counter chewing on some strawberries which I didn't get his permission to eat and I watched him hovering over the stove preparing a simple Russian stew as he called it, which he loved when he was a child and my interest was spiked when he spoke of meat in it.

While he was cooking, I stared. I admired the flex of his muscles and body movements as he picked up a spoon or turned the ladle.

Puppy orian was laying in a corner after being fed and tired out by playing and she looked happy. I loved it here, I could get used to it, I could get used to stealing his berries while he cooked or offering to massage his arms when he was done.

All of this was blissful till my parents called.

And