She slept over.
Nora Atwood was in my bed. Wearing one of my shirts.
My head pounded, and my throat begged for water. While the day drinking caused my hangover to start in the evening, it lingered.Damn mimosas.
I watched Nora sleep for a minute. Her long lashes fanned over her cheeks, and her lips parted slightly as she breathed a heavy sigh. I scratched my jaw as I studied her smooth skin, the way her hair fell over her forehead, and her pixie-like face. She was my little weirdo, and my stomach fluttered with something like butterflies. Which was weird. I didn’t get those. I wasn’t a teenage girl at a boy band concert.
But the feeling was definitely there. I slid out of bed and tossed on shorts before using the bathroom. Mouthwash was a must. I tiptoed toward the living room. This wasn’t exactly new territory of having a woman in my bed, but Nora was…Nora. We might’ve been sleeping together for the past couple weeks, but staying over in each other’s beds was next level. I grunted, trying to figure out what it all meant, and made coffee.
Caffeine would certainly help my head onandhelp get rid of this damn hangover. I chugged water and stared at my phone, the unanswered email to the café guy. My fingers flew over my keyboard as I sent him the phone number of my finance buddy and quickly sent him a text to give me a call.
The same warm feeling I got hearing about Carla’s success returned even more, and I made a fist of victory alone in my kitchen. Only, I wasn’t alone.
“Do you always cheer yourself on in the kitchen or is today special?” Nora’s husky voice was filled with sleep. God, I wanted to kiss that mouth.
“Confidence is a sexy trait for men and women,” I said, arching a brow at her as she stood at just outside the kitchen. She twisted the edge of the shirt in her hands, and I jutted my chin at it. “You planning to take off that shirt, or are you nervous?”
She let go like it was a live wire, and a shadow crossed her eyes. “Ah. I’m obvious, huh?”
“I spend a lot of time looking at you, so yeah, I can read your face.”Shit.My face heated at how lame that sounded. At least it wiped the worry from her face. “Anyway, why are you nervous? Is it because I’m so attractive you don’t know how to control yourself?”
She rolled her eyes and joined me in the kitchen. “You’re easy to be around, Fritz.”
“Likewise, Doc.” She walked up to me and trailed her fingers over my collarbone and down my chest. I sucked in a breath at her touch.
“I stayed the night.” She looked up at me with clear brown eyes. “I crossed that invisible line we drew.”
“I’m not mad about it.” I cupped her face and pressed a soft kiss on her. I didn’t get too heavy with morning breath and hangover mouth. I wasn’t a monster. “Are you okay with it?”
“I…” She stopped and her brows came together in a hard line. “My lip balm fell into the side drawer, and I had to get it.”
“Okay.” I frowned, not at all understanding why we had a cute moment that shifted to worry. “Did you get it back?”
“Yes.” She chewed her lip and stepped out of my reach. “I found a box in there. I was curious, and I looked. I’m sorry.”
A box.
Samantha’s ring.
I scrubbed my palms over my eyes and groaned, the familiar pang of her betrayal overtaking my body. Lies. Money. Marriage. I knew, rationally, that Nora did nothing wrong. She never lied about her goals or intentions. She was clear as hell about them. But how did I explain this?
Worry danced along my spine like little bolts of electricity, and I exhaled. She didn’t actually ask a question, just apologized for seeing it. That meant I didn’t have to acknowledge it.
Coward.
“Are you…you’re not…that’s old, right?” she asked in a small voice that reached into my chest and fisted my heart. Nora had no idea how much space she took up in my mind.
“Nora,” I said, making my voice serious. “That ring is very old. The story I told you about also being betrayed? It revolves around that damn ring.”
She nodded, and her lips formed anO. “Ah, I see.” The concern left her eyes, but she was still curious. Tilting her head to the side and eyeing me up and down. I wasn’t in the headspace to tell her the truth about any of it.
“Sit down. Let me cook you breakfast.” I picked her up, enjoying the quick scent of lavender around her, and set her on the stool. “Bacon? Sausage? Eggs? Toast? Hash browns?”
“Do you have all of those items?”
I grinned at the surprise in her voice. “Yes. I like to eat, we’ve established that.”
The awkward tension around the room dissipated as I got the ingredients out and started preparing the food. She wanted to learn how to make hash browns at home, and we chatted about all sorts of things as we navigated through the kitchen.
