The reply comes back in less than a minute.
Very good, Master Charlie. I shall inform Mrs. Hayden. Shall I prepare anything for your return tomorrow?
I smile.
Just coffee. That would be great. Thanks, Oscar.
It will be done. Good evening, sir.
I set the phone down and wrap both arms around the woman pressed against me, who's breathing deeply and steadily against my chest in a way that tells me she's close to sleep.
"You're staying," she murmurs, and the word isn't a question.
"I'm staying."
She presses her lips against my collarbone, a kiss so soft it barely registers. "I'm glad."
Shifting to turn off the lamp, I pull Sunny closer, lying awake for a while longer. I think about the woman who told me she wasn't used to people wanting her around for something other than what she could do for them.
I want her for all of it, everything she is. The sharp edges and the soft ones. The sarcasm and the laughter. The woman who argues with Tabitha about barrel racking and the woman who sat cross-legged in the grass while six ducks climbed over her like she was the safest place in the world.
A streetlight blinks on outside, casting a pattern across the quilt. Sunny murmurs something unintelligible and wedges even closer, and I let sleep pull me under.
Tomorrow I'll drive back to Twin Oaks and face Gran's knowing smile. But tonight, in this moment, there's nowhere else I want to be.
Chapter 9
Sunny
Iwake to the unfamiliar sound of someone else breathing.
For a disoriented second, I tense the way I always do when something feels out of place. Then the warmth registers and my brain takes stock. There's a solid arm draped across my midsection and a broad chest pressed against my back. The slow, steady rhythm of breathing stirs the hair at the nape of my neck, and chills chase down my spine.
Charlie Hayden is in my bed.
The events of last night reassemble in a rush that sends heat flooding through my entire body. His mouth on mine in the kitchen. His hands dragging me close. The way he said my name like it was the only word he needed.
I lie still as my pulse settles. The early light coming through the curtains is gray and soft, which means it's before six. My internal clock runs on winery time, and even a night that left me boneless and breathless can't override years of five o'clock mornings.
Charlie's arm tightens, snuggling me closer in his sleep. His hand is warm and heavy against my breast, his fingers pressing in, and my whole body hums in response.
I should get up, extract myself from this tangle of limbs and bedsheets, start coffee, and rebuild at least one of the walls Charlie demolished last night. That would be the smart move, the one that has kept me functional and protected.
Instead, I roll over.
Charlie's face in sleep is something I’m not prepared for. He looks like a fallen angel, the kind of face that makes people look twice. His dark brown hair falls across his forehead, and his jaw is dark with overnight growth. The lines around his eyes have smoothed out. And then there's his mouth, relaxed and slightly parted. The things it did to me last night are going to make eye contact very difficult.
My fingers move before my brain gives permission. I trace the line of his jaw, feather-light, following the angle of it to his square chin. The stubble catches against my fingertips, and the intimacy of it hits me harder than last night did.
His eyes open. Not the groggy, confused blink of someone dragged from sleep, but a slow, deliberate opening, as if he's been lying there aware of me for longer than he let on. That hazel gaze focuses on my face, and his smile wrecks me.
"Morning, Sunshine."
His voice is lower than usual, roughened by sleep, and the sound of it vibrates through me in places that have no business responding this early. "You were awake," I accuse.
"I've been awake since you started breathing differently about ten minutes ago." He catches my hand against his jaw and presses his lips to my palm. The gesture is so tender that it bypasses every remaining defense I have. "I’ve noticed that your breathing changes when you're processing something. It goes shallow and fast, like you're running numbers in your head."
"How do you know that?"
