Page 85 of Show Me

“Morning.” Her voice is rough with sleep as she steps into the kitchen.

“Morning.”

She slows when she sees the counter. Two mugs. Coffee already made. Her eyes flick to me, then back to the pot. “You’re going to make this a habit.”

“Preventative maintenance.”

A huff of laughter escapes her as she wraps her hands around the mug. The smell of coffee fills the space, warm and familiar, settling into the corners of the kitchen.

“You see anything?”

“Raccoon.” I wink as I grab my mug and lean against the counter next to her. “Looked suspicious.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him.”

We stand there for a minute. No rush to move. No need to fill it. Close enough to feel the quiet shift between us but not touching.

After we’d checked everything one last time, she’d gone to bed. I’d stayed awake longer than I should, shifting between being deflated that she’d taken away the opportunity to spend more time with her, and relief that I’d avoided making a mistake. Because knowing that every glorious inch of her body was only a few feet from where I was lying was getting harder to ignore.

The curve of her cheek. The line of her jaw. The swell of her breasts under the oversized sweatshirt. My body flares with heat—her bare feet. I swallow hard over the lump in my throat. Those ruby red toenails.

Squirt lets out a low grunt and nudges the cabinet door harder this time. Saved by the pig. Again. “Feed them?”

Her brows lift. “You volunteering to help?”

“I’m already dressed.” And I need to do something before I kiss her. I shove off the counter and stride to the door.

Outside, the air bites a little sharper than it did yesterday. The grass is damp beneath my boots, cool seeping through my shirt as I step off the porch. The motion light flicks on, then fades.

Her footsteps sound on the wooden steps as she follows several steps behind me after stopping to slip on her shoes. Samson lifts his head the second we come into view. He watches me. Still deciding.

“He’s not sure about you.”

“At least I have Squirt.”

“That you do.” The sound of her laughter twists inside of me.

I shove it away as she pours the feed, the grain hitting the trough in a steady rhythm. I move along the fence line while she works, slower this time, eyes tracking the ground instead of scanning it.

The spot by the siding catches my attention first. Flattened grass. Same as yesterday. No deeper. No wider. Nothing new pressed into it. I move on. The gate latch holds. The fence line is intact. Nothing pulled loose. Nothing forced.

Behind me, the piglets shift and squeal, louder this morning. Stronger. One wanders too far from the cluster. I step in, nudging it back toward Delilah before Samson decides to intervene.

He watches. Lets it go.

“You’re gaining his trust.” She braces her hands on her hips.

“High-stakes relationship.” That earns me a small smile as we walk back to the porch side by side in a comfortable silence.

Once we’re inside, she grabs her bag from the counter, checking inside like she always does. I wipe my hands on a rag and set it by the sink, folding it once before leaving it there.

“You don’t have to leave before me.”

“I’ve got a stop at the shop.” True. Just not the whole reason.

She nods, like she expected that answer. “Thanks for everything.”

I step outside before I’m not able to. This is getting messy. Too messy. I rake my hand through my hair. Staying shouldn’t feel this easy. Or this dangerous.