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“That’s ridiculous.”
“Why?”
“I want you to be happy, too,” she said.
“And?”
“Doesn’t mean I’d have offered to break the law to do it.”
The muscles around his lips twitched. “I think you would have.”
She grinned. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“Plus, you’re making me homemade cinnamon rolls in the morning.”
“Cinnamon rolls? I don’t think I was so specific...”
He shrugged. “I heard it.”
“Like, with yeast and two rises and everything? That’s a lot of work.”
“You promised.”
She laughed, and he relished the sound. “Fine. Cinnamon rolls it is.”
“Good.”
She lowered her gaze a little, looking straight ahead, level with his chest. She frowned and her finger touched his left pectoral. Goose bumps erupted across his skin. “Is that a new one?”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, I’ve had it a few months.”
She nodded. “I guess I just haven’t seen you lately without...” She waved a hand across his midsection. “Like this. It’s beautiful. Is it finished?”
The tattoo was a single feathered wing spread across that side of his chest and onto his shoulder. “Yeah.”
“Just one?”
He wasn’t in the mood to talk about it, so he simply nodded.
She didn’t push. Probably because she understood him so well and knew when to leave things be.
“Well,” she said. “I’ll let you get back to bed. I’m sorry I made you get up.”
“It’s no problem.”
She just watched him for a beat, then stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, laying her cool cheek against the tattoo.
“Thank you, Noah.”
He slid one arm around her back, then the other. Standing in the dark with her lush body pressed up against him caused his heart to stutter to life, beating erratically inside his rib cage. His eyes slid closed and his throat closed up, a mixture of pleasure and guilt swirling inside him like a tornado. The guilt, an ever-present ache deep in his gut, clawed itself free and rose up to destroy the joy in his heart.
The pain made it difficult to breathe, his chest filling with pressure. He released her and headed back to his room without a word, his earlier assertion disturbingly clear.
He definitely wouldn’t survive this.
Breakfast had always been Mia’s favorite meal of the day. Well, before she discovered chicken wings, anyway.
Noah’s mom had always loved making a big thing out of Sunday brunch, and when they were younger, Mia had usually drifted over to his house those mornings. It became such a regular occurrence that his mom started cooking for five, and Mia still showed up even when he and Nathan were away in the mountains.
