I blinked in the soft early light coming through the blinds, the scent of cedar and cinnamon still lingering in the air. Lois was snoring faintly from the living room—content and unaware that the entire axis of my world had quietly shifted overnight. For a moment, I just lay there, letting myself soak in the quiet comfort of his presence. Everything felt impossibly still—like the world outside had faded away.
I eased back against Nate’s chest, reluctant to move. Last night had been everything. Gentle and sweet. Heated and sexy. He’d made me feel like more than I ever let myself believe I could be.
I rolled over slowly to face him. His lashes were dark against his cheek, his jaw slack with sleep. One of his hands was resting on my hip. I could’ve stayed like that for hours.
But reality ticked at the edges of my peace.
Because as much as I wanted to linger in this perfect cocoon, I couldn't pretend that the rest of my life wouldn't come knocking soon enough. Hidden fears and doubts pressed quietly at the edges of my happiness, reminding me that nothing this good ever came without complications. I let out a slow breath, torn between clinging to the moment and bracing myself for what came next.
“I need to go home,” I whispered.
He cracked one eye open and smiled. “I was dreaming that we stayed in my bed all day. Unrealistic, I know.”
“I have to feed the cats,” I said, trying not to melt as he shifted closer, his voice still rough with sleep. “And open the Coffee Cabin.”
“Bring them here,” he murmured, kissing my temple. “I'll make everyone breakfast.”
“I think Linguini would try to steal Lois’s bed,” I said dryly. “And Remy would try to move into your house permanently.”
“Sounds like we’d be a full family by next week.”
I smiled, but there was a flicker in my chest I didn’t want to examine too closely.
Nate stretched and sighed. “I’ll drive you home.”
He pulled on a T-shirt and joggers and padded barefoot through the house while I got dressed, gathered my things, and gave Lois one last pat on the head. Outside, the early morning air was cool and hushed, the world still half-asleep. He held my hand as we walked to the truck, his thumb brushing over my knuckles like he wasn’t quite ready to let go yet.
Before he opened my door, he paused. “So,” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth, “just to be clear—this wasn’t me accidentally kidnapping you for an extended dinner, right?”
I laughed softly, my heart still doing that unsteady thing. “No,” I said. “Though I did enjoy the part where I was fed and emotionally compromised.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, then sobered, his gaze lifting to mine. “Last night wasn’t just…” He trailed off, shaking his head once. Then he met my eyes, steady and earnest. “It meant something to me.”
My throat tightened. “Me too.”
“Well,” he said lightly, like he was trying to keep things from tipping over the edge, “that’s a relief. I was worried I’d imagined the whole thing.”
“Don’t get cocky,” I said. “I’m still processing.”
“That’s fair,” he said, smiling. “Take your time. I’ll be over here pretending I’m very cool about it.”
He leaned in then and kissed me—soft and slow, unhurried—like he was memorizing the moment. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against mine.
“For the record,” he murmured, “I’d do that again.”
I smiled. “Noted.”
The drive was quiet after that, comfortable in the best way—the kind of silence that didn’t need filling. When he pulled up in front of my place, neither of us moved right away.
He squeezed my hand gently. “Text me when you’re inside,” he said. “So I know you didn’t vanish into the night.”
“I live here,” I teased. “I promise I’ll still exist.”
“Humor me,” he said, gaze warm and unguarded. “I like knowing things.”
I leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Have a good day, Nate.”
“You too.”
