Jane appears in the doorway, her hair a riot of curls, her bare feet. She’s wearing leggings, and one of my flannels hangs off her shoulder. It does something sharp and possessive to my insides.
She squints at the kitchen as if she’s offended by how bright the morning is. Then her gaze lands on me, and her mouth curves.
“You always up at dawn?” she asks, voice husky with sleep.
“Earlier.”
“That’s illegal.”
“It's ranch life.”
“It’s serial-killer life,” she corrects, shuffling toward the island. “But bacon suggests you’re at least a serial killer with standards.”
I slide a mug of coffee toward her without comment.
She wraps both hands around it like it’s life support and takes a sip. Her eyes close, and a low sound escapes her, a half hum, half sigh.
My grip tightens on the plate in my hand. I’ve seen men break bones without flinching. That sound does more damage than a fist.
Jane opens one eye. "Don’t look so pleased. I’m still assessing whether you’re safe."
“I am safe.”
She snorts. “That’s exactly what unsafe people say.”
I set her plate down. “Eat.”
She looks at it like she’s surprised I’m capable of feeding another human being.
Then she eats. Not dainty. Not careful. She hums when the bacon hits her tongue, makes a little sound of satisfaction at the eggs, and licks butter off her thumb without thinking about it. She’s not performing, just... enjoying. Unapologetically.
It’s the most real thing I’ve seen in years.
Still, I can’t take my eyes off her—the way she leans forward, elbows tucked, eyes flicking around as if she’s absorbing the entire room while chewing. Hyper-aware. Wired even in calm.
I recognize that. The constant scanning. Different reasons. Same result.
She catches me looking and points her fork at me. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re doing the intense cowboy stare.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” she insists. “Like you’re deciding whether to kiss me or arrest me.”
My body reacts before my brain catches up. “Kiss.”
The word is out before I can stop it.
Jane freezes mid-bite, fork suspended. Her eyes widen. Not shocked. Caught. Like she didn’t expect me to admit anything out loud.
Neither did I.
Silence opens up between us, crackling and dangerous.
She clears her throat and recovers fast because she’s Jane. “Good to know.”
