Page 27 of Smoke and Roses

He’s asleep, breathing slowly and deeply. Not pacing or sitting in a window keeping watch.

I listen to it a while. Then I close my eyes and go back to sleep too, feeling safer and more whole than I have in years.

Chapter Nine

She’s singing in the kitchen, and she’s wearing my shirt.

From the bedroom doorway, I’ve got a clear view. Lindsey North is barefoot on her black-and-white kitchen floor at 0440, in my blue button-down with one button missing, stirring something on the stove and singing “Here You Come Again” into a wooden spoon.

The shirt hits her mid-thigh. Her hair is a wild mess and I can’t take my eyes off her.

Somehow I slept seven hours. Who knows when that happened last. Maybe before Joey. Maybe never.

She turns around with the spoon and sees me and shrieks.

“Oh my God. How long have you been standing there?”

“Second verse.”

“You could have said something!”

“You were busy.” Like she’s a magnet and I’m metal, I come into the kitchen. It’s small and warm, and perfectly intimate after what we did last night. “What are you making?”

“Eggs. And I have to be across the lot in ten minutes because the truck comes at five, so you’re getting eggs whether you like eggs or not.”

I stand in the small space looking down at her cute expression, feeling like the earth shifted last night.

“Do you like eggs?” she asks.

“I like eggs.”

She nods once. “How do you take them?”

“However you make them.”

For a second she just looks at me, then shakes her head. “That’s a cop-out answer.”

“It’s the truth.” I take the spoon out of her hand and set it on the counter. Then I wrap my hands around her hips and lift her onto the counter next to the stove.

My voice is morning rough when I say, “Good morning.”

Eyes softening, Lindsey’s cheeks turn pink. “Good morning.”

I kiss her. She tastes like coffee. Her bare legs wrap around my hips, and my shirt rides up.

Fuck. I’m so hard for this woman. I forget about eggs entirely until the smell of burning food drags us apart.

“My eggs!”

I reach over and turn off the burner without looking. She laughs into my neck.

“You slept,” she says, quieter, with her arms around me. “When I woke up at three, you were asleep.”

“I know.”

She leans back to look at me. Her brown eyes are warm and careful. “Was it me?” she asks.

I could say something smooth. Rob would. Devin definitely would.