"I could stay like this all day," she said softly.
"Me too."
We dozed for a bit, and this could be normal. Waking up next to her every morning. Having all the time in the world.
My phone buzzed somewhere in the pile of our clothes.
I ignored it.
It buzzed again. Then again.
"You should check that," Flannery said, resignation in her tone.
"Don't want to."
"It might be about Dash."
She was right. Damn it. I pulled away reluctantly, found my jeans, and pulled out my phone.
Three texts from Heather Miller. The first was from an hour ago:Boys are fine, "helping" Jon make pancakes. Happy to keep Dash as long as you need.
The second, twenty minutes ago:Dash asking when you're coming. No rush!
The third, just now: A photo of Dash and Jayden covered in pancake batter, grinning at the camera like maniacs.
Reality hit. Responsibilities, schedules, family expectations.
"Everything okay?" Flannery asked, sitting up and wrapping the blanket around herself.
I showed her the photo. "Looks like they're having fun."
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "They're adorable."
"Yeah." I set the phone down and pulled up the weather. Highway 287 clear. Main roads passable. No more excuses. "I should probably get over there soon. It's Christmas Eve. Got wrapping to do, and my folks are coming over this afternoon. Shane and Dusty with their girlfriends too."
"Right. Of course." She clutched the blanket tighter. "I need to get home too. Mee-Maw's expecting me. We have baking to do before church tonight."
"We'll be there too. Whole family. Wouldn't miss the Christmas Eve service."
"Oh." Her expression flickered—hope? Fear? I couldn't read it. "That's... good. I'll see you there, then."
She stood, gathering her clothes. The skirt she'd worn to the library yesterday. The sweater. She pulled on each piece, buttoning the cardigan slowly, tucking her blouse in, smoothing the skirt.
I pulled on my jeans, my shirt. When she reached for her glasses, I almost stopped her, wanting to keep her like she'd been moments ago—bare and open and pink-cheeked. But she slid them on, and just like that, she was Miss Flannery again.
Except I knew better now. What she looked like when she came. The sounds she made when I touched her just right. How she tasted sweet and felt right in my arms.
"I should close up the shop," she said, not quite meeting my eyes. "Make sure everything's secure."
"Flannery—"
"I'll just be a minute." She disappeared into the back room.
I stood there trying to understand what was happening. This morning she'd been in my arms, talking about always wanting me. Now she couldn't meet my eyes.
When she came back with Vixen in her carrier, she'd put herself back together completely. Hair secured with those knitting needles. Coat zipped to her throat. Expression carefully neutral.
"Ready?" she asked.
