“All right,” he relented, making a sour face. “Maybe I should have a nap first.”
She clucked her tongue in sympathy. “When did you last sleep?”
“I got two or three hours last night.”
“Then I’m amazed you can think at all.” She stood, picked up a half-filled notebook and pencil, then held out her free hand. “Come with me to the sofa.” He trailed behind her to the living room, obedient as a sleepy child. She sat on the sofa, then patted her lap. “Lay your head here.”
“What will you do while I sleep?”
“Sort out my thoughts. Come on, now.”
Kicking off his slippers with a shrug, he curled onto the sofa with a drawn-out sigh of pleasure. His cheek nuzzled against her thigh, and one arm draped across her lap. She waited for his weight to settle against her, his warmth a comfortable heaviness, and brushed his hair back from his forehead.
“God, that’s good,” he said through a yawn. A moment later, he was snoring softly against her leg.
Olive shook her head with a small smile. Funny to think the same sofa where she had received pleasure could also be one of domestic bliss. Her fingers threaded through the oily tangle of his dark hair, brushing over the rasp of stubble. She followed the steady rise and fall of his chest, each breath rumbling like a distant purr. He’d run himself ragged—on the case, yes, but also for her. A ripple of emotion stirred in her chest, and this time, she let it rise.
Because now she knew for certain it was the stirrings of love.
It was fresh-born, tender. It would need to be coddled. Protected. But it no longer frightened her. It was no longer foolish. For now, it was enough to savor the wonder of beginnings and to marvel at the fragile, growing thing inside her.
She gave herself a few more minutes to soak in the new feelings, then turned her attention to the notebook. Her thoughts needed sorting, and she would do it while Emil slept. She turned over everything he’d told her, analyzing it from every angle, trying to find safe passage through.
If Emil confronted Wingate without proof, the news could spread through the city and end his career before it began. That wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want him to throw everything away for her. There had to be a way that protected them both. Heart heavy but mind sharp, she began to write. One page soon filled, then another. Her fingers began to ache, but she wasn’t finished.
It was calming to pin down all the reasons this case upset her.
It was healing to put into writing all the things she’d been too afraid to say aloud.
And it was liberating to know, without a doubt, that she could weather this storm.
When the clock chimed sometime later, Emil roused. He peered up at her with one eye still shut. “Hello,” he said, his voice gruff with sleep.
She set the pencil down and smiled at him. “Hello. Feel better?”
“I do. You’re very comfortable. You should stay here all the time.”
Her pulse leapt at the suggestion. “Would that I could. But who would ensure Robbie doesn’t destroy the furniture performing cartwheels?”
“Good point.” He swung his feet to the floor, sat up, and rubbed his hands vigorously over his face. “I’m going to make some coffee. When I return, will you tell me what you were working on?”
“Of course. I’m eager to know what you think.”
He leaned down and pressed another kiss to her cheek. Funny, how often he did that now. Funnier still, how natural it felt. How much the casual affection moved her.
She rose from the sofa and moved back to the dining room table.
“Why don’t you stay for dinner?” he called from the kitchen. “I can make…well, there’s bread. You like bread, don’t you?”
“A sweet offer, but Mama has a roast waiting for me.”
“That sounds much better.” Emil exited the kitchen bearing two steaming mugs. He placed one in front of her. “Four lumps of sugar, just the way you like it.”
She took a small sip. “Ah, yes. I love it when my teeth rot.”
He chuckled and settled into his seat. “Ah, yes. My type of woman.”
“I hope I still am, after you hear what I’ve been thinking about.”
