His fingers closed around hers. “You too.”
“I missed you.”
“Me too.”
Her cheeks pinked, and she glanced around the diner. “Shall we get coffee?”
She picked up the menu, then put it down, her eyes smiling. “Is the coffee here as good as the pie?”
And that was the moment that almost undid him.
Not the way she’d launched herself at Akilov in the snow, although that memory was burned into him forever.
But this.
The ordinary softness of it.
This was what made him want more.
More mornings.
More nights.
More of her across a table from him, in his bed tousled and warm from sleep.
More ofthis.
He swallowed against the knot in his throat. “Yeah, it is.”
Louisa returned and took their order. She clucked her tongue at Wyatt and winked as she walked away. When she came back with the coffee, she’d added two slices of apple pie.
She placed them on the table, beaming. “On the house.”
Jen wrapped her hands around the mug and blew gently across the surface before taking a careful sip. Then she picked up her fork and took a bite of pie. She closed her eyes. “Oh my God...”
A small smear of apple caught at the corner of her mouth.
Wyatt reached across the table without thinking. He touched the corner of her lips with his thumb, wiping it away. He didn’t pull back. His hand lingered, his thumb sliding lightly along the curve of her jaw.
Jen stilled.
Her breath caught, and the way she looked at him made his chest ache.
“What?” she whispered.
He cleared his throat. “Pie.”
Her smile softened, tender and a little unsteady.
Then she leaned forward, resting her cheek against his palm for just a second. Before he could react, she turned her head and pressed a small kiss into the center of his hand. “Wyatt Meyer. You’re very intense for a coffee date.”
“I’m not used to them.”
“I know.” She covered his hand with hers. Her fingers were still healing, the new nails smooth and short. “But we’ve got time,” she said softly. Her eyes held his. “I’m not going anywhere.”
They talked.
Not about Akilov or the rig, or the snow.
