6:52 AM.
My body doesn't want to move, but somehow my brain fires up immediately.
It thinks about yesterday. Abouthim.
I can't believe I kissed Colt Lane. I can't believe the taste of him, the sound that rumbled from his chest when I let him close the distance and do the exact thing I'd been picturing through every quiet minute I spent next to him in that hospital room.
I press my fingers to my lips.
They're still tingling. They're stilltingling.
"Get a grip, Zoey," I whisper to my ceiling. "You've got a business to run. It was one kiss."
I throw the comforter off and swing my legs over the side of the bed, catching a glimpse of myself in the dresser mirror.
My hair is a disaster. Debbie's beautiful blowout has morphed overnight into something that looks like I lost a fight with a washing machine. My old sleep shirt is twisted sideways, one shoulder completely exposed, and there's a crease on my cheek from the pillowcase that makes me look like I've been branded.
At least I'msmiling.
Not a normal smile. Not a polite, customer-facing,thanks-for-shopping-at-Butter-Batchsmile.
A stupid, dreamy, dopamine-soaked smile that has no business on the face of a thirty-four-year-old woman who has bread to bake and a child to feed.
"Mom?"
Morgan appears in the doorway, already dressed in leggings and her favorite Snow Leopards tee—the one with Samuel Voss's number on the back that her uncle Beck shipped from across the country. Her braids are lopsided from sleep, and she's studying me with a confused look on her face.
"What's going on? You slept in."
"I know. I'm sorry, baby. Alarm didn't—"
"Youneversleep in."
"I know."
Morgan tilts her head, eyes narrowing. "And you're smiling weird."
I snap my mouth shut. "I'm not smiling."
"You literally are. Right now." She points a finger at me. "It's creepy."
"It's notcreepy, Morgan. It's called a pleasant morning expression. You should try it sometime."
"It's calledsuspicious." She backs out of my bedroom and drops her backpack on the kitchen table before climbing onto her stool and pulling a box of cereal toward her. "You gonna tell me what happened yesterday?"
I slide into my fluffy bunny slippers and follow her into the kitchen.
"Nothing happened."
"Uh huh. Your face says otherwise."
I turn away from her, busying myself with coffee because looking at my daughter right now feels like being cross-examined by a tiny, ruthless attorney.
The coffee machine sputters to life, filling the apartment with that rich, dark, slightly burnt scent that is genuinely the only thing holding my sanity together most mornings.
I grip the counter and take a steadying breath.
It was just a kiss. One kiss. It doesn't have to change anything.
