An irrational fear grips me at the thought that she might go back to the guest room, needing distance and space.
But she looks at the mattress and then at me. “Do you have a side?”
“Whichever one you’re on,” I blurt out.
Her laugh reaches me, easing the tight knot in my chest.
Cecilia chooses the left side, and I settle behind her on the mattress, drawing her back into my chest, fitting her body to mine, right where it belongs. When my hand slips beneath the hem of the shirt to rest on her stomach, my fingers meet nothing but bare skin.
I bury my face in her hair, breathing her in deeply, fighting my body’s natural reaction. It is sweet torture, having her like this, wearing only my shirt, her scent tangled in mine…
My hand traces lazy circles at her waist. I pull her closer until her breath and mine fall into the same rhythm. She relaxes, her body trusting mine to hold it through the night. And eventually... I let myself follow her into sleep.
Cecilia turns in my arms, facing the room. I feel her gaze sweep the space, taking in every detail.
“By the way,” she murmurs, “your bedroom is beautiful. I didn’t even notice yesterday and...”
A laugh escapes me. We both know exactly why she hadn’t noticed anything beyond the two of us.
I follow her gaze, trying to see the room through her eyes.
It’s spacious. The walls are painted in sober shades. The furniture is dark wood. And then there is the glass.
A wall of sliding glass doors runs from floor to ceiling, opening onto the balcony overlooking the valley. Beyond it, the olive groves stretch endlessly, their silver leaves already shimmering in the early sun.
It’s an ordered room with a view built to calm the mind.
I kiss the delicate hollow beneath her ear, fighting the pull to stay exactly where I am. “I’m going to start breakfast,” I murmur against her skin, and feel her shiver. “Take your time.”
Pulling on black sweatpants I go downstairs and make myself human again at the bathroom sink on the lower floor.
In the kitchen, I start the coffee maker with a big smile on my face. Soon the bacon is hissing in the pan, and I turn to the French toast. Cecilia’s favorite, and according to her mine wasthe best she’d ever had.
The thought curves my mouth into a smile as the scent of cinnamon and melting butter fills the kitchen.
I’m flipping the last slice just as I hear her light footsteps behind me. Cecilia stands in the doorway, wearing a blue dress with thin straps, the light fabric whispering around her legs when she moves.
Blue has become my favorite color since she walked into my life... though after yesterday, green has taken on an entirely different meaning.
She crosses the kitchen, her eyes roaming my bare chest... pausing on the tattoo on my left bicep—the only one I have, the one I caught her studying yesterday but never asking about—before lifting back to my face with a teasing curve to her lips.
“No shirt today?”
A low chuckle leaves my throat as I round the island and pull her to me, her back resting on the cool marble.
“Now that you’ve seen me naked,” I murmur, my nose brushing hers, “I figured modesty was no longer necessary. I wouldn’t want to insult you by pretending otherwise.”
She shakes in my arms with laughter, and I kiss her, feeling her smile into my mouth.
Breakfast passes in easy banter and plans for the day.
Sunlight pours through the kitchen windows as we talk about the day ahead, about medieval villages and long drives throughnarrow roads. I watch her speak, the way her hands move when she’s animated, how her eyes catch the light when she’s excited.
I could spend hours, days, just listening to her talk.
Having her here—barefoot in my kitchen, eating the food I made, laughing like this place has always belonged to her—does so many things to me.
When we’re done, she gathers the plates and walks toward the sink. Before she can reach the dishwasher, my hand closes gently around her wrist.
