For the first time in years, things were just… good.
I woke up with Riley beside me, her dark hair spread across my pillow like spilled ink, and had to remind myself this was real. That she was here by choice now, not just arrangement. That the woman curled against my side, one hand resting on my chest, had kissed me in a dark hallway and meant it.
I let myself look at her. Really look. The way you do when you stop guarding the exits and finally admit you’re not leaving.
The soft curve of her cheek, slack with sleep in a way it never was when she was awake. Awake, she held herself tight—jaw set, shoulders squared—like rest was something she had to earn. Sleep stole that from her.
The small scar cutting through her left eyebrow, pale and clean, like it had healed fast but not quietly. I’d never asked about it. I could picture the answer anyway.
Her lashes lay dark against olive skin, one cheek pressed into the pillow, her breath slow and even. The faint line betweenher brows—always there, even when she smiled—had finally smoothed out, like whatever she carried during the day had loosened its grip.
Her lips were parted just slightly, the bottom one fuller than the top. I watched them move with each breath, rise and fall, a rhythm so steady it made my chest ache.
She was beautiful. I’d known that from the first day she walked into the firehouse, all sharp edges and warning signs, daring anyone to underestimate her.
But this?—
This was the version she didn’t offer freely. The quiet one. The unarmored one. The Riley who slept curled into someone else without bracing for impact.
The Riley who was starting, slowly, to trust me.
She shifted beside me, a small sound catching in her throat, and I closed my eyes immediately, going still.
Like if I pretended hard enough, she wouldn’t catch me memorizing her.
“You’re staring.” Her voice was rough with sleep. “I can tell even with my eyes closed.”
“Wasn’t staring. Was admiring. There’s a difference.”
She snorted and burrowed closer, her nose cold against my neck. “Semantics.”
“Important distinction.”
We lay there as the room slowly lightened, the gray of early morning thinning into something warmer. A pale line of sun crept along the ceiling, inching forward like it had nowhere else to be.
Outside, the ranch stirred. Hooves shifted in the barn, a low huff of breath, the sound of wood settling. Birds started up one by one, tentative at first, then louder, as if testing whether the day was really allowed to begin.
There were things waiting. Feed to carry. Gates to check. Coffee to make strong enough to cut through the night. A whole day lined up and tapping its foot.
Neither of us moved.
Riley’s head rested against my chest, her breathing still slow, still deep. I could feel the warmth of her through the thin fabric of my shirt, the quiet weight of her there like an answer I hadn’t known I was asking for. My hand lay at her back, steady, familiar already.
“We should get up.”
I stared at the ceiling, at the slow march of light.
“Probably.”
She shifted just enough for me to feel it, a small exhale against my skin.
“Mia will be awake soon.”
“Probably.”
The word settled between us, heavy and unconvincing.
Still, neither of us moved.
