“So you moved from clocks to people.”
“Something like that.” He moves back into my space, resting his forearms on the counter on either side of my hips. “And what about your friends? Who’s the leader of that circus?”
“We take turns.” I pause, looking at him. “You’re remarkably calm for a man who just caught a woman snooping in his closet.”
“I’ve dealt with worse traumas.” He reaches out, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. “Besides, if you’relooking for a reason to run, I’m not going to give you one.”
I swallow hard, my heart hammering. “I’m not looking for a reason to run.”
“Good.” He leans in, his forehead brushing mine. “Because I was planning to keep you here at least until lunch.”
I laugh, pulling him in for a kiss that tastes like salt and sourdough.
“I should check the freezer, though,” I whisper against his lips. “Just to be sure.”
“Eat your breakfast, Madi,” he murmurs, kissing me again. “Then you can check wherever you want.”
Thirty-Eight
Beckett
After breakfast, Madison insists on “digesting horizontally,” which is how we end up on the couch with some mindless action movie playing in the background.
Her head settles on my chest with one arm draped across my stomach and a leg thrown over mine.
At some point, she goes quiet. That’s when I realize she’s asleep.
I don’t move. Not when her breathing evens out or when the credits roll. I’ve got no idea what happened in the last twenty minutesanyway.
I just watch her.
Her copper hair is spilling across my T-shirt, and there’s a faint crease on her cheek from the cushion.
She looks… younger like this.
Unarmored.
I brush a strand of hair off her face carefully. She doesn’t stir.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Madison this relaxed.
Actually, that’s not true. I don’t think Madison knows how to relax.
But here she is. Out cold in my arms.
For some reason, that hits harder than it should, and something shifts in my chest.
When did that happen?
When did she stop being the neighbor who storms into my life and start being the woman I measure my Saturdays against?
I trace my thumb along her temple. She hums in her sleep and presses closer.
It feels… significant.
Which is inconvenient.
“You’re staring at me,” she mumbles, her eye cracking open.
