She turned her head. The space beside her was empty, sheets still warm. She could hear water running from the master bathroom, the shower.
She sat up slowly. Her body ached in unfamiliar places, a pleasant soreness that made her flush. She remembered his hands on her skin, the weight of him above her, the way he'd looked at her when he pushed inside her. She pushed her hair back and swung her legs off the bed.
The house was quiet. Peaceful. Morning light filled every room, reflecting off white walls and warm wood. Through the windows she could hear gulls crying in the distance, the faint sound ofwaves. It felt open. Safe. Nothing like her cramped apartment with its chain lock and peeling paint.
She found her underwear and Logan's T-shirt on the floor and pulled them on, then padded barefoot toward the kitchen. The tile was cool under her feet. She found the coffee maker sitting on the counter. She opened cabinets until she found mugs, then grounds, then filters.
By the time the machine started gurgling, she heard footsteps behind her.
Ghost appeared in the doorway, hair still damp, wearing a clean black T-shirt and gray sweatpants. He looked different in the morning light. Less like the operator who'd pulled her out of danger and more like a man just waking up in his own home.
He looked at her, then at the coffee maker. "You didn't have to do that."
"I wanted to." She leaned against the counter, arms crossed loosely. "I wasn't sure how you take it."
"Black." He moved closer, stopping just in front of her. His hand came up to her face, thumb brushing her cheek. "You?"
"Cream. No sugar."
He leaned in and kissed her, slow and unhurried. Morning stubble scraped gently against her skin. When he pulled back, his eyes searched hers. "You sore?"
Her face warmed. "A little. Good sore."
The corner of his mouth lifted. He reached past her for the mugs, his arm brushing hers. His skin was still warm from the shower, and he smelled like soap and cedar. He didn't pull away immediately, just stood there close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him.
The coffee finished brewing. He poured two cups, handed her one, then pulled cream from the fridge. She added just enough to lighten it, then took a sip. The warmth spread through her chest.
Ghost watched her over the rim of his mug. "You sleep okay?"
"Better than I have in weeks." She met his eyes. "You?"
"Same."
They stood there for a moment, drinking coffee without talking. Rachel's eyes drifted to the windows, to the view of the bay beyond. The water was calm this morning, reflecting the pale blue sky. "This place is incredible. How long have you had it?"
"Three years. Bought it after a deployment went sideways." He took another sip. "Needed somewhere that was just mine. Somewhere nobody could find me."
Rachel heard what he didn't say. Somewhere safe.
"You hungry?" he asked.
"Starving."
He moved to the fridge. Rachel watched him survey the contents.
"I've got eggs. Toast. Not much else."
"That works."
He grabbed the eggs and butter. Rachel found a pan and set it on the stove, turning the burner to medium. The gas caught with a soft whoosh. She dropped a pat of butter into the pan and watched it melt and sizzle, filling the kitchen with its rich smell.
They fell into an easy rhythm, moving around each other naturally. He cracked eggs into a bowl while she swirled the butter to coat the pan. She buttered the toast while he whisked, the fork clinking against the ceramic bowl.
His hand brushed her hip as he reached past her for a spatula. She leaned into the touch without thinking.
He poured the eggs into the pan and the kitchen filled with the sound of them cooking, that soft sizzle and pop. Rachel watched him work the spatula, folding the eggs over themselves until they were fluffy and just set.
When they were done, they ate standing at the counter. No plates, just forks and the pan between them. Ghost's free hand rested on her waist, thumb moving in slow circles through the thin fabric of his shirt.
