I’m staring out her back door, overlooking the hills as the sun rises.
I’m thinking it’s time to buy her a big, grand lake house that has been her dream from the start. I could build a dock for us to lie or sit on, swing our legs off the edge to dip our toes in the water. And we can fill it up with kids or dogs or cats—whatever she wants.
The mug in my hand has gone cold now, the coffee no longer steaming with smoke swirling above it. I only took one sip before that memory hit me like adrowning current.
“You’re up early.”
I turn to find something brighter than the sun. Her soft brown waves are in frizzy tangles, her eyes are squinted the way they are after just waking up, and she yawns as she grabs the empty mug I left out for her.
“I have nothing else to do.” Except now, I’ll be talking to a local realtor. Lana fills her mug with coffee and takes a giant sip before topping it off. “Are you busy today?”
“I work everyday,” she rasps, turning to lean on her forearms over the island.
I tread carefully, moving to take a seat across from her. “Do you need help?”
“No,” she breathes. “I’m just…busy. I have errands I have to run before I start getting ready.”
“It’s six, Lana,” I say softly.
She’s working herself dry.
“I open at nine, it’s fine,” Lana mumbles and takes another sip of coffee.
“Give me a list,” I say without much thought.
She blinks. “What?”
I hitch a shoulder. “Give me a list of things you need to do. Groceries or laundry, whatever. I’ll do it.”
Lana chuckles.
“What’s funny?”
“I don’t even think you know what a domestic life is anymore, Christian,” she teases, smiling. “Are you going to go to the supermarket in a custom five thousand dollar suit?”
I smirk. “I only haveoneof those and you know it.”
“You’re incorrigible,” she muses, rolling her eyes and lifting the mug to her lips.
I jump from the stool and follow her as she rounds theisland. “Lana, baby—” My hand catches her elbow. “Give me a list and go back to sleep for another hour.”
Her eyes narrow. “Do I look like shit or something?”
I swallow. Her hair is messy, her longer bangs are in all different directions, there’s a line stamped down her cheek from her pillow, her eyes are so beautiful, and…well, her nipples are poking through her t-shirt.
“No,” I rasp.
“Stop looking at my boobs,” she snaps.
My eyes snap up. “I wasn’t?—”
She chuckles. “Christian.”
I arch a brow. “Lana.”
“Christian, I’m too tired to be objectified, okay? Just tell me you think I look like shit so I can tell you that you need a haircut.”
I scoff. “I donotneed a haircut.”
