Me: Not yet. But... I think this might be something real.
Lily: FINALLY
Chloe: We called it! Little intuition never lies.
I set the phone down and find Justin watching me with amusement.
“They are nosey.” I explain.
"They seem invested," he observes.
"They are." I shift back against him. "They've been telling me for months I needed someone who could handle me. I’ve had a couple bad blind dates that they’ve arranged, and none of them were the real deal."
"And now you have a man who cannot only handle you but enjoys doing so."
"Now I have one," I agree, before yawning. It’s late. Really late.
“As much as I would like to repeat what we did by the fire, I think it’s time for us to get some real sleep.”
“But—” I can definitely wake up for a repeat of what we did by the fire.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Sleep, sweetheart. I’m going to take you to bed and tuck you in.”
The sun is blinding when I wake. Not gentle morning light, but full Colorado high-altitude brilliance reflecting off snow so white it hurts to look at. I really need to make sure the blinds are pulledwhen I go to sleep. Two days in a row of having my eyeballs stabbed.
I'm alone in bed, but the indent beside me is still warm. The scent of his soap lingers on the pillow.
I stretch, feeling the pleasant ache in muscles I forgot I had. He’d taken me to bed but we hadn’t gone to sleep right away after all. We'd stayed up touching, learning the language of each other's bodies through careful exploration. Nothing rushed. Nothing I wasn't ready for. Just Justin's hands and mouth teaching me what it feels like to be worshipped slowly.
My phone shows it's nearly ten. I never sleep this late.
Madison: Good morning sunshine. You alive?
Me: Very alive. Suspiciously well-rested.
Lily: Mr. Bossman wore you out?
Chloe: It’s the afterglow
Me: You're all terrible.
Amber: Terribly RIGHT
Maya: So what's the plan for today? More snowed-in romance novel activities?
Me: He's probably planned something, if I know him.
I find him in the kitchen again, but this time there's more than breakfast. There's a backpack on the counter, thermoses lined up, and what looks like a picnic basket.
"You're up," he says, glancing over. "Good. We have a schedule."
"A schedule for what?"
"For properly enjoying this place." He gestures to the window, where the park spreads out in pristine white. "The storm's over. Roads will probably be clear tomorrow morning, but we have today."
"And you planned activities."
"I planned experiences." He crosses to me, cups my face, kisses me slowly and thoroughly until my knees go weak. When he pulls back, his eyes are warm. "Good morning."
