My body is apparently illiterate, which is exactly how I ended up naked with Silas and also unemployed in the first place.
I lie there, trying to will myself back to sleep, but every time I close my eyes I see him in that dream again, moonlight and flannel and dark eyes and rough-voiced promises.
At some point, the night starts to thin toward dawn. My alarm isn’t due to go off for another hour, but I give up on sleep entirely and throw the blankets back.
If I’m going to survive living under the same roof as these men, I need a plan.
Step one: coffee.
Step two: walls. Big ones. Around anything resembling attraction—Caleb’s quiet eyes, Silas’s reckless charm, and Boone’s controlled intensity, all firmly on the other side.
Step three: treat Caleb as a coworker. Nothing more, nothing less. Same for Silas. Same for Boone. No repeating history. No getting attached.
I shuffle into the bathroom, splash cold water on my face, and study my reflection. My cheeks are still a little pink.
I scowl at myself.
“Off limits,” I remind my mirror image. “Repeat after me. Off. Limits.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
By the time I step into the hallway, the house is quiet, that pre-dawn stillness wrapped around everything. I pad toward the kitchen, intent on starting coffee before Sadie wakes up, before Boone appears, before Silas stumbles in with his hair a disaster and a smirk already loaded.
As I turn the corner, I nearly collide with a solid, warm body. Strong hands grip my shoulders, steadying me before I can fall.
“Easy,” a familiar voice rumbles.
I freeze.
Look up.
Caleb stands there in the dim light, hair tousled, tee shirt soft and worn, flannel unbuttoned over it. His eyes meet mine, sleepy and clear and more I don’t want to name.
His fingers are still on my shoulders.
For half a second, the dream overlays reality so perfectly that I forget which is which.
“Sorry,” I blurt. “I didn’t think anyone else would be up.”
He lets go, stepping back just a fraction. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d start on the morning barn check early.”
“Right.” My brain is helpfully supplying image after image from my subconscious’s greatest hits reel. “Of course. Animals. Sunrise. Very… on brand.”
His mouth twitches as if he wants to smile but isn’t sure if he should.
“You okay?” he asks.
His gaze flicks over my face, cataloging details again.
I swallow.
“Yeah,” I lie. “Just… lots of new.”
He nods slowly. “Coffee helps.”
“Working on it,” I state, moving toward the counter so I don’t have to keep standing so close to him in the half-light while my traitorous brain replays his dream smile in full HD.
He stays a moment longer.
