9
NIA
I woke up expecting him, but the space next to me reminded me he wasn’t mine. I slipped out from under the covers, shivering in the cool air as I pulled his shirt on. The soft cotton held his unique scent that I’d already grown used to in just a day.
After using the restroom and washing up, I found him on the porch, his broad back to me, hands braced against the railing as he faced the lake. He wore only sweatpants riding low on his hips, his upper body bare in the cool morning air, muscles defined under smooth brown skin. Something hitched in my throat at the sight of him. Not just desire, though Lord knows that was still there, but something softer and more dangerous.
I cleared my throat quietly so I wouldn’t startle him. He turned, and when he smiled at me, I felt a warm rush in my stomach.
“Morning coffee’s ready.”
“I smelled it. I was going to bring you a cup, but it seems like you beat me to it.”
He nodded toward two steaming mugs already waiting on the small table between the Adirondack chairs. “Great minds. Hope you still take it black.”
“You remembered.”
He shrugged, that half-smile playing at his lips again. “I notice things. It’s the cop in me.”
“Well, now I’m wondering what else you’ve noticed,” I joked, settling into the chair and reaching for a mug. The ceramic warmed my palms as I lifted it to my lips, savoring that first perfect sip.
Ronan sat next to me, and we watched the sun rise over the trees. I glanced at him when I thought he wasn’t looking. Without his uniform or the pressure of public scrutiny, he seemed younger.
I noticed him looking at me, too, his eyes lingering on my bare legs, on the way his T-shirt draped over my curves, on my locs tumbling loose around my shoulders. The way Ronan observed me made me feel both powerful and vulnerable, like I’d given something away I couldn’t take back.
“You sleep okay?” he asked, breaking the silence.
“Yeah,” I admitted. Peaceful sleep had become a luxury I rarely enjoyed.
He nodded and looked back at the lake. A fish jumped, sending ripples across the water. “Same. I used to come here to get away from the city noise, but it never really helped. My thoughts always followed me.”
“And now?”
“Now I sleep like the dead. Must be the company.”
“Mmm. Or the physical exertion,” I teased.
His laugh was genuine, rumbling from deep in his chest. “That too.”
A light breeze moved over the lake. I hugged my knees, feeling exposed in his shirt and in my feelings. The peace between us felt fragile, like it could break if we weren’t careful.
I pulled his shirt tighter around me, hoping it would shield me from how intense my feelings were. He watched me, his eyes growing darker.
“Cold?” he asked, voice dropping lower.
I shook my head. “Just . . . processing.”
He nodded slowly, understanding in his eyes. “Yeah. It’s a lot.”
I turned my hand palm up, allowing Ronan’s fingers to intertwine with mine. We sat there, hands linked, the connection growing between us, something I hadn’t expected but could feel taking root.
The morning progressed from coffee on the porch to a full breakfast Ronan insisted on cooking: eggs, bacon, and grits that were actually seasoned right, which impressed me more than I let on. Now, we stood on the wooden dock that stretched into the lake. He looked at me like a man with a mission, and apparently, that mission involved my learning to fish.
“You want me to do what now?” I stared at the fishing rod Ronan held out to me, then back at his face.
“Come on, city girl. It’s fishing, not rocket science.” His smile was playful, eyes bright in the midmorning sun. He’d changed into jeans and a faded blue T-shirt that hugged his shoulders in ways that made me briefly forget why I was protesting.
“I know what fishing is. I never seen the appeal of standing around for hours hoping some fish is dumb enough to bite a fake worm,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. I’d borrowed a pair of his basketball shorts, rolling the waistband several times to keep them from falling off my hips. I knotted his T-shirt at my waist, my locs pulled back in a ponytail.
