Sometime in the middle of the night, Grayson woke up with the distinct sensation that something was different.
Something warm, soft, and curled against him.
He opened his eyes, sleep clinging hard, confusion fogging his brain for half a second before reality set in.
Lark.
She was tucked against his side like she belonged there, her head pillowed against his shoulder, her hand resting lightly against his chest. Her fingers flexed every so often in sleep, as if, even unconscious, she needed to reassure herself he was there.
Her body was molded to his in a way that felt so natural, it stole his breath. His arm was wrapped securely around her waist, holding her close in sleep.
And the damn pillow wall was gone.
Grayson blinked in the dim space, trying to orient himself. A faint golden glow spilled across the room from the cracked-open bathroom door, providing enough light for him to make out the stretch of mattress where the ridiculous barrier had once been.
Had he moved it?
He honestly couldn’t remember. Then his gaze dropped to the woman sleeping against him, and another possibility occurred to him.
Had she moved it?
The thought sent a slow, dangerous heat through his chest, because if she had…
Jesus.
Had she felt the same thing he had today?
His pulse kicked harder.
Everything that happened today had shaken him straight to the foundation. The festival, the laughter, and the easy teasing between them had been unexpected. He’d been dreading this weekend, yet today was seriously one of the best days he’d had in a long damn time.
Probably because of the way she’d looked at him sometimes, when she didn’t think he was paying attention. He struggled to remember the last time a woman had looked at him like that. He’d purposely eschewed dating after the Staci debacle, though he hadn’t intended that to be a permanent thing. He’d only planned to take a break from women, so he wasn’t sure why he’d let that stretch out for three whole years.
Carefully, trying not to wake her, Grayson shifted slightly so that he could see her face. Sleep softened her, making her look younger, vulnerable, trusting.
Beautiful.
Grayson had caught glimpses of Lark nearly every single day at the farm for over a year. Her hair was always shoved into messy ponytails, and she was never without that constant smirk, the one that had been missing most of today. The Lark he was used to was always laughing too loudly, talking too much, and annoying the shit out of him.
Apparently, he’d been a blind fool who had never truly looked at her. Because he’d never felt so overwhelmed by her sheer fucking beauty.
How the hell had he missed it?
A strand of blonde hair had fallen across her cheek, so he brushed it back, gently. Too afraid of waking her up and ruining this moment.
Her breathing changed slightly, but she didn’t wake.
Thank God. This moment felt strangely fragile and way too important to disturb. Because, despite the confusion spinning through his head, one thing was terrifyingly right.
Holding her.
The weight of her against him settled something deep inside, a restless ache he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying around. For the first time in longer than he could recall, his mind was quiet and there was no pressure.
Just her. Warm in his arms. Trusting him enough to sleep there.
He replayed the festival over in his mind, memories from earlier reappearing with startling clarity. When that drunk asshole had grabbed her, Grayson had seen the flash of panic in her eyes before he’d intervened. Then Lark had stepped into his arms like she belonged there.
Because she did.
