In bed.
His bed.
Alone, but definitely in it.
And oh my, but it smells like him.
Woodsmoke, citrus, something wild and musky and ridiculously male.
I bury my face in the pillow and breathe in deep like some lovesick maniac and—yep.I need to get a grip.
There’s a folded piece of paper resting on the nightstand.
In scrawled, rough handwriting it reads:
Got called in early to check on a complaint, but take your time.No rush.Breakfast is on the stove.
Yours, O.
He signed ityours.
Swoon.
I mean, come on.
I press the note to my chest and sigh like I’m in a damn romance novel.
He tucked me into his bed.
I glance down at myself.I’m in my panties and one of his T-shirts—definitely not what I fell asleep in.
I smirk.
Sleeping in jeans does suck.Apparently, he thought so too.
Which means the big, broody Sheriff undressed me.
Gently.
And kind of annoyingly respectful, too.
And then let me take over his bed while he went to work.
I swear, if this man gets any more perfect, I’m going to start looking for the glitch in the simulation.
Stretching, I toss the covers back and swing my legs over the side—only to yelp and stumble backward when I spot a stranger sitting quietly in the corner.
Not a stranger like, I don’t know that guy.
Stranger like, there is a grown-ass woman in a lace shawl knitting a purple scarf in the corner of Owen Randall’s bedroom like she owns the place.
She looks up at me and smiles, completely unfazed.
“Um, who are you?”I ask, clutching the sheet to my chest.
A sliver of doubt, of fury, ofoh-my-god-is-he-a-cheaterunfurls inside of me.
“Don’t mind me, dear.My son is just messy, messy, and I came by to change his sheets, but after findingyouin them, I thought I should stay and get to know you,” she says brightly, like this is normal and I’m the weirdo.
