Then I reach out, and my fingers find empty space where a warm body should be.
My eyes snap open. The indent in the pillow beside mine is still there, but Devin is gone. A flutter of panic rises in my chest, was last night just another chapter I wrote in my head?
Then I hear the soft clatter of dishes from the kitchen, followed by Pudding's insistent meow. Relief washes through me, then a new kind of nervousness. Devin Turner is in my kitchen.
I slip out of bed, wincing slightly at the pleasant soreness between my thighs. After a quick trip to the bathroom to brush my teeth and attempt to tame my wild bedhead, I pull on an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of sleep shorts.
I pause at the bedroom doorway, suddenly shy. Which is ridiculous, considering what we did last night. But morning light has a way of making everything feel more vulnerable, more real.
The sight that greets me in the kitchen steals my breath. Devin stands at my stove, his broad back to me, wearing nothing but his jeans slung low on his hips. Morning light catches the defined muscles of his shoulders as he flips what is definitely a pancake.
"Are you bribing my cat?" I ask, leaning against the doorframe.
Devin turns, and the smile that spreads across his face makes my knees weak. His hair is adorably mussed, a shadow of stubble darkening his jaw, eyes warm and bright in the morning light.
"Good morning," he says, voice still rough with sleep. "And yes, absolutely bribing him. He's been eyeing these pancakes like they're personally insulting him."
"That's just his face." I move into the kitchen, hesitating slightly before pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder. "I didn't know you could cook."
"Pancakes barely count as cooking." He turns fully toward me, spatula still in hand, and tugs me closer with his free arm. "But I make a mean omelet, too. If you're lucky, maybe I'll show you sometime."
The casual reference to future mornings together sends a flutter through my stomach. "I'll hold you to that."
His eyes darken as they roam over my face. "You look beautiful in the morning."
I snort, acutely aware of my tangled hair and makeup-free face. "Now I know you're just angling for more of what happened last night."
Instead of the teasing response I expect, his expression turns serious. He sets down the spatula and cups my face in his hands. "You do, Nora. All sleep-warm and soft." He kisses me gently, and I melt into him despite my morning breath fears. "And yes, I'm definitely angling for more of last night."
"The pancakes are burning," I murmur against his lips.
He curses softly and turns back to the stove, rescuing a slightly blackened pancake. "Worth it."
We eat at my small kitchen table, knees touching beneath it, as sunlight pools around us. Devin has somehow found my maple syrup stash and insists on drowning his pancakes, while I prefer mine with just a light drizzle and fresh berries. Pudding weaves between our legs, hoping for dropped morsels.
"So," Devin says, taking a sip of coffee, "am I going to appear in your next book?"
I nearly choke on my pancake. "What?"
His grin is wicked. "The ex-quarterback who sweeps the heroine off her feet? Seems like prime romance novel material to me."
"That would be extremely unprofessional," I say primly, though heat creeps up my neck. "Besides, my current hero is a wilderness guide with a troubled past."
"I could be troubled," he offers. "I've got at least three brooding expressions."
"Only three? Amateur."
He laughs, reaching across the table to tangle his fingers with mine. The gesture is casual, comfortable, like we've been doing this for years instead of hours. "Seriously, though. What are you working on?"
The genuine interest in his eyes makes something warm unfurl in my chest. Most men I've dated have treated my writing as a cute hobby, not a legitimate career worthy of discussion.
"It's the third book in a series about sisters who inherit their grandmother's lakeside resort," I explain. "This one focuses on the youngest sister, who's always felt overshadowed. She's determined to prove herself by leading a wilderness expedition,but her guide is her ex-boyfriend's older brother, and they have... history."
"Complicated," Devin observes, thumb stroking the inside of my wrist in a way that makes it hard to concentrate.
"The best love stories are."
His eyes hold mine across the table. "And what about this one? Is it complicated?"
