Maybe he would.
Maybe he already was—showing me in the ways that mattered most to him.
I pressed a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw.
“What was that for?” he asked, voice still rough with sleep and sex.
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
I hesitated, then decided on honesty. “What it would be like … out there. With you.”
He went still for a second.
Then his hand slid into my hair again, fingers gentle. “You want to find out?”
My heart gave a hard thud.
“Yes.”
His mouth curved against my temple. “Then we will.”
Simple.
Certain.
Like everything else about him.
“Get showered and dressed,” he said after a moment, the words quieter now, almost tender. “We should leave soon.”
The shift was subtle, but clear—movement forward, back into structure.
Back into him.
I nodded, pushing myself out of bed and reaching for my clothes, aware of him behind me, of the way his attention followed even when he didn’t say anything.
We showered together, then dressed without urgency.
Without tension.
Just … quiet awareness.
Until I stepped into the main room.
And saw it.
A scarf.
Draped over the back of a chair near the fireplace.
It was soft, cream-colored, clearly expensive. Not something that belonged to this place—or at least, not something I would have expected to find here.
I hadn’t seen it before.
Not mine.
I paused.
