Heat crawls up the nape of my neck. Clearing my throat, I avert my eyes. “Needed the bathroom.”
She grins slowly and mischievously. “It’s okay, Reed. You just wanted to watch me sleep, admit it.”
“Bullshit,” I mutter, rubbing a hand over my jaw.
Her laugh is quiet yet bright, filling the room in a way that makes my chest ache. She sits all the way up, her ridiculous shirt slipping off one shoulder, her hair wildaround her face. “For the record, I do not drool. I am a very dignified sleeper.”
“Right,” I deadpan, arching a brow. “Looked real dignified, half hanging off the bed.”
Her mouth drops open in mock offense. “You could’ve fixed me,you know. Tucked me in or something. Isn’t that southern hospitality?”
“Didn’t want to lose a hand,” I shoot back, finally letting the corner of my mouth twitch.
Her laugh erupts as she flops back onto the mattress, covering her face with both hands. “God, I can’t believe I’m getting roasted by you at six in the morning.”
I lean against the doorframe with my arms folded, just watching. Her sunshine burns away the quiet and heaviness until I almost forget it’s there.
“Coffee?” I ask finally.
She peeks at me between her fingers, smiling. “Only if you promise not to make fun of my pajamas.”
“No promises,” I mutter, but the smile lingers as I turn toward the kitchen.
For the first time in a long damn while, the morning doesn’t feel so heavy.
The coffee pot gurgles to life, filling the kitchen with the smell of dark roast. I lean against the counter with my arms crossed, watching the steady drip, waiting for the mug I know I’ll need to get through the day.
She drops into one of the chairs at the breakfast nook, with her legs tucked under her, and starts talking before I can even ask how she takes her coffee.
“Your house is crazy, Reed. These windows? They’re huge! Do you even have curtains? Because if not, you’re basically giving the squirrels a free show. Not that I’m judging. I think they’d enjoy it.”
Only she would be concerned about squirrels.
I shake my head, turning back to pour the coffee. “Don’t need curtains.”
“Bold of you to assume your neighbors aren’t peeking through binoculars,” she teases, chin in her hand. “If I lived across from this place, I’d totally creep.”
I snort, sliding a steaming mug across the counter toward her. She brightens immediately, wrapping both hands around the ceramic mug.
“Oh my God,” she sighs after the first sip. “You might have just saved my life. No offense to LA coffee shops, but this actually tastes like coffee, not burnt like oat milk that costs thirty dollars.”
I settle across from her with my own mug, watching as she rambles, her words spilling faster than the pot ever could.
“And this kitchen,” she continues, waving one hand dramatically, “is sooooo amazing. The wood? The stone? The whole rugged man lives here, but somehow knows what color palette is the vibe? Did you design this yourself?”
I shrug, sipping my coffee. “Catalina and Amelia helped, mostly.”
She rolls her eyes, setting her mug down with a clink. “Well, they did an amazing job.”
Her grin is too bright, too effortless. And even though I only give her a slight shake of my head, I feel a warm spark ignite in my chest.
She doesn’t notice, as she keeps rambling about different topics all at once.
She talks about wanting to change her content, but her nervousness makes me wonder why—mentions how Amelia once threatened to toss a crystal at Maverick if he didn’tstop stealing her snacks. Describes how Catalina swears by lavender-scented candles, even though Layla thinks all flower-scented products smell the same.
Choosing not to say much, I sip my coffee and listen to her intently, yet I hang onto every word.
I barely finish half my mug, and she’s already up again, padding barefoot across the wood floors until she’s in front of my fridge. She swings open the stainless steel doors and bends at the waist, peering inside.
