Ben had fixed that by rearranging his own furniture one morning, moving her art supplies into the spare bedroom himself, and hanging her St. Vrain drawing in the living room where he could see it every day.
Now she was settling in. Her coffee mug sat next to his above the coffee pot. Her sketchbooks littered the sunroom. Her tactical backpack hung on the hook by the door next to his forge apron.
It feltright.
He just had to convince her to make it permanent. He hoped today would go a long way toward that.
The bedroom door opened and Charlie appeared, sleepy-eyed but undoubtedly drawn by the scent of coffee. Flo trotted out behind her, tail wagging, and headed straight for her full food dish. Charlie's hair was sleep-mussed, gorgeous. She wore one of his old t-shirts that hit her mid-thigh, which absolutely delighted her. She’d told him it made her feel dainty.
“Morning, Princess,” Ben said.
Charlie made a sound that might have been words and headed straight for the coffee pot. Ben had already poured her a mug. He handed it to her and she took it like a drowning woman grabbing a life preserver.
“You're perfect,” she mumbled into the steam.
“You say that every morning.”
“And I'm right every morning.”
He chuckled at their usual routine as he opened the oven.
She took a long sip, then another. Finally her eyes focused. “What time do we need to leave?”
“We have an hour. Faire opens at ten, but I want to get there early for setup. Hope you don’t mind eating bachelor-style in the kitchen.” He set two plates of pancakes on the counter. “Eat up.”
“With pleasure.” She opened a drawer and took out two forks and knives while he grabbed the syrup and butter.
Charlie took a bite, closed her eyes, and groaned. “So good.”
“Thank you. Glad you approve.”
As Charlie woke, she looked Ben up and down approvingly. “I do love that kilt.”
Ben felt his cheeks heat. He knew just how much she loved it every time she sneaked into the backyard forge to watch him work while he wore it. He was surprised he didn’t have to pick her jaw up off the floor each time.
“I don’t suppose you have any spare armor lying around I could wear this time?” she asked, half-joking. “I wasn’t exactly dressed for it last time.”
Ben's mouth curved. “Sorry, I've pretty much sold out of everything, like I always do by the last weekend.”
“Figures.” She pretended to pout.
“But… I have something else.”
Charlie looked at him over the rim of her mug, one eyebrow raised. “Yeah?”
Ben set his own coffee down and moved behind her.
“What are you doing?”
He covered her eyes with his hands. “Trust me?”
“Always.”
He guided her through the kitchen, down the hall, into the sunroom. The first morning light poured through the windows, turning everything to molten gold.
Except for one spot of moonlit sliver.
Ben grinned. “Okay.” He dropped his hands.
