Page 42 of Something About September

They stayed tangled together afterward, skin warm and damp, limbs twined beneath the quilt.

He stroked her back in slow, lazy circles as their breath returned to normal.

“This doesn’t feel real,” he finally said.

“And yet,” she said with a smile, reaching out, touching him back. “You are real. And so am I.”

He kissed her, pulled her close, drew her tight against his chest as the moonlight spilled across the bed and they fell asleep.

—

Cort’s shower was running in his en suite bathroom. For a moment, Rebecca stayed still in his bed, surrounded by the scent of him on the pillows, feeling luxuriously content. She stretched, smiling at the pleasant ache in her muscles.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Cort said, emerging from the en suite with a towel slung low on his hips, his hair damp, his smile a little shy, but not by much.

“Good morning,” she murmured, reaching for him as he sat on the edge of the bed and bent to kiss her.

He reached down to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek.

“How did you sleep?”

“Better than I have in weeks,” she admitted. “You?”

“Like a dead man.” He leaned down, pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “You tired me out.”

Her cheeks warmed as she recalled how, in the middle of the night, she had woken, filled with yearning for him again. She had waited just a few moments before waking him up with her touch. The entire time, he had looked at her like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not.

“Trust me, I liked it,” he said. “I’d happily have interrupted sleep for the rest of my life, if it meant being woken up like that.”

His finger traced the bare curve of her shoulder. “But now”—he glanced at the clock on his bedside table—“I’m late for work. Hope my boss won’t be mad. She’s really tough.”

“She’ll let it go this time,” Rebecca said, pulling him back down onto the bed again, hoping it might be possible for them to never leave this room.

Chapter 27

They drove to the diner together later that morning and spent a lot of time finding excuses to touch whenever they were near each other. Rebecca still had so much to do to empty out the diner’s kitchen, and Crispin’s deadline still hung over her head, but she couldn’t focus on anything but Cort. Her eyes kept drifting to him, through the kitchen pass: the contours of his biceps under his white T-shirt, the way his forearms flexed as he worked. The way he bit his lip when he was concentrating.

“You’re staring,” he said without looking up.

“Am I?” she asked innocently. “I hadn’t noticed.”

His easy grin turned wicked in a way that made her stomach drop. “Keep looking at me like that, and this floor is never getting finished.”

“Maybe I don’t want it to get finished,” she said before she could stop herself. “Maybe I just want to stay here forever.”

Cort stilled, and she both wished she hadn’t said it and wanted to say more. “Becca…”

“I know, I know,” she said quickly, heat rushing to her cheeks. “You have work to do.”

But instead of returning to his sanding, Cort set down his tools and crossed the room. He stopped in front of her, crowding her gently against the counter until she had to tilt her head back to look at him.

“For the record,” he said, his voice low and rough, “I don’t want it to get finished, either. And I would very much like you to stay.”

Their kissing intensified until it was clear there was only one thing they both wanted.

“We can’t,” she said breathlessly, even as she didn’t move away.

“We definitely can’t,” he agreed, his lips trailing down her neck, lifting her sweater.