I'm in Sage's bed.
The early November morning is crisp enough that I can hear rain pattering against the windows, but under this fortress of quilts—seriously, how many blankets does one person need?—everything is warm and perfect and slightly in disarray, just like the woman currently using my chest as a pillow.
Sage sleeps like she does everything else.
With complete commitment and zero regard for personal space.
One arm is flung across my torso, her leg is hooked over mine, and her soft dark red hair has somehow managed to be in my mouth, across my neck, and tickling my nose simultaneously.
I should move.
I have a company to run, meetings to attend, a security platform that's probably developing new and creative bugs as we speak.
Instead, I lie still, studying her in the pale morning light.
Her face is soft in sleep, the constant motion finally stilled.There's a small scar on her temple I hadn't noticed before, probably from some inn-related disaster.
Her lips are slightly parted, and she's making tiny snoring sounds that she would vehemently deny if awake.
And she’s so fucking beautiful.
Not in the polished, calculated way Veronica was beautiful.
Sage's beauty is accidental, unplanned, like wildflowers growing through concrete.
It's in the way her nose crinkles when she laughs, the determined set of her jaw when wrestling with plumbing, the light in her eyes when she won Pictionary.
My body is already responding to her proximity, fourteen years of muscle memory overridden by one night of her.
I shift slightly, trying to create some distance before I embarrass myself like a teenager.
She murmurs something that sounds like "spreadsheet" and burrows closer.
So much for distance.
"Are you watching me sleep?"Her voice is rough with sleep, but I can hear the smile in it.
"No," I lie."I'm efficiently observing your REM patterns."
"Creeper."She stretches against me, and I have to bite back a groan."What time is it?"
I crane my neck to see the clock."Six twenty-three."
"Gross.Why are we awake?"
"Natural circadian rhythms?"
"Unnatural torture."She props herself up on an elbow, and the sheet slips dangerously low."Hi."
"Hi."
"So...we did that."
"We did."
"Any morning-after regrets?"
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear."Only that your goat probably ate my shoes."
