His voice was sleep-rough but amused as he adjusted his hold on me, pulling me closer instead of letting go. My face heated at being caught staring, but he didn’t seem bothered. If anything, the small smile playing at the corner of his mouth suggested he didn’t mind being studied at all.
“Sorry,” I murmured against his chest. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I was. Your brain is loud when you’re thinking.”
I laughed despite myself, the sound muffled against his shirt. “My brain is always loud.”
“I know,” his hand moved to stroke my hair, fingers gentle against my scalp, before kissing the top of my head. “It’s one of the things I like about you.”
Warmth bloomed in my chest at his words. It wasn’t the sharp spike of attraction I’d felt before, but something steadier. Safer. Like I could just be for once in my life.
“I don’t normally like being touched. Or held,” I admitted at length.
“I can let go.”
“No,” I responded a little too quick. “It’s nice.”
Finn chuckled and tightened his hold on me, squeezing me with a delicious pressure that brought life into my body. Then he relaxed and leaned back a bit to look at my face, swiping my hair out of my eyes.
“We should probably get our stories straight on a few things,”his eyes searched mine. “If we’re gonna pull this off.”
“Right,” I was suddenly aware that we knew hardly anything about each other. “Do you have any food allergies? Dietary restrictions? Strong opinions about pineapple on pizza?”
“Nope, none, and I think people who get worked up about other people’s pizza preferences need hobbies,” his fingers traced lazy patterns against my shoulder. “What about you?”
“Tree nuts make my throat close up. I hate tomatoes with the passion of a thousand suns, and Iwilljudge you if you put raisins in perfectly good cookies.”
“Noted. No walnut brownies, no caprese salad, no oatmeal raisin cookies pretending to be chocolate chip.”
“Exactly,” I shifted to look at him properly. “Middle name?”
“Bannock. You?”
“Joan, after my mom. What do I call your parents when I meet them?”
“Nolan and Bridget works just fine. They’re not formal people. You can call my grandmaMóraí. She’s very Irish.” He paused. “What’s the story with your parents? Enzo’s dad is your stepfather, right?”
“Antonio,” I nodded. “Since I was thirty. My dad died when I was twenty-five.” I caught my body starting to tense and made myself relax against his chest. “Tony’s good people. Loud, enthusiastic, makes terrible dad jokes in three languages.”
“And your mom?”
“She means well but has opinions about my life choices, or lack thereof,” I traced one of the lines in his tattoo with my finger. Ink dark enough to mean he’d gotten it after his accident. It must have hurt to have needles poking into the scars it covered. “How long have we been dating?”
“Since LA? That’s about two weeks now.”
“Two weeks feels too new for how comfortable we are together. Maybe we should say a month? Met before the engagement party but kept it quiet?”
“Makes sense.”
I stopped tracing the human form on his bicep, spreading my fingers and wrapping them around his arm. His hand stilled in my hair as I looked up at him.
“Finn, can I ask you something more serious?”
He looked down at me, carefully hiding the apprehension in his eyes. “Of course.”
“Tell me about your time in the Navy?”
He blinked, confusion crossing his features briefly. “Oh. You’re asking about Navy service in general as part of our story?”
