Joey rolled off Pacey and pulled the covers up over her naked body. Then she brushed her tangled hair back from her face with a swipe of her hand. "Wow, that was…"
Pacey, who'd been on his back, propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at her. "Great? Stupendous? Mind-Blowing?" he offered confidently with a wink.
Joey reached up to wipe a bead of sweat from his brow. "Nice. It was really nice."
He smiled tenderly, "That too."
Their lovemaking had been all the things Pacey said, but, most importantly, it had been nice. Pacey had made sure of it. He'd known instinctually what to do to satisfy her physically, but it was the way he did it - with tenderness, care, and reverence - that had made it so nice. Again.
Joey reached up and pulled him down to her for kiss and then pushed him back onto his back so she could scoot over and burrow into him. This was what she had missed the most when they were apart: Pacey enveloping her in warmth, both physical and emotional.
As Pacey languidly stroked her upper arm, he whispered, "I missed you, Jo."
"Me too, Pace."
And then they fell asleep.
The next morning, Pacey woke up to find the bed next to him empty. For a moment he thought he had dreamed last night, but then he heard a loud bang in his kitchen along with a "Shit!" and he knew that he hadn't.
He got out of bed and shouted, "Are you okay, Jo?" as he put on a pair of sweatpants.
"Fine," was the curt reply he received. Then, "Dammit!"
At that, Pacey rushed out of the bedroom to see what had Joey so upset and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the condition of the kitchen.
Pacey was a slob. Everyone knew that. Except when it came to his kitchen. In every place that Pacey had lived since becoming a chef, he kept his kitchen immaculate. Whenever people visited, they knew never to touch anything in there without his express permission. Well, everyone except for Joey, apparently.
When he entered the room, it looked like a tornado zone. There were pots and pans all over the floor. His griddle and the surrounding area was covered in pancake batter drips. And there were crumbs all over the counter from the toast Joey had made. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink.
"Ah, Jo, what's going on?" he asked, counting to ten in his head so as not to freak out about the kitchen.
Joey looked up, syrup in hand, and frowned. "Well, I was trying to make you breakfast in bed. Except it didn't go so well."
"Yeah, I can see that." Then, "Um, Jo, I could have made breakfast for us. You should have woken me up."
She smiled brightly, "But I wanted to surprise you. You cook all the time, so I thought I'd treat you."
"But, Joey, you can't cook."
She put the syrup bottle on the counter and crossed her arms. Giving her most know-it-all face, she declared, "Yes I can. I took cooking classes in New York."
Under any other circumstances, Pacey would have been livid at the state of his kitchen, but seeing Joey standing there in nothing but his half buttoned dress shirt from last night instantly lightened his mood. When she crossed her arms, it pulled the shirt tight against her breasts and he pretty much lost the ability to think coherently about anything, let alone to be mad about the mess.
"Earth to Witter," she queried as she stepped toward him and waved a hand in front of his face. "You, okay?"
Pacey didn't say anything. He just grabbed Joey with one hand and the syrup with the other and pulled her into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him, breakfast all but forgotten.