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“Sorry.” She looked up at him, and he realized his hand was spanning her back. Touching the soft, warm skin at the base of her neck. He pulled his hand away and she made to stand, wobbling a little.
He rose with her. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head as she straightened all the way. “I just hit my knee.”
Her eyes did a slow sweep of his body, and he was keenly aware he was shirtless. He’d kept shorts on because it felt weird to sleep in only his boxer briefs with her there, and in that moment, he’d never been more thankful for the foresight.
His skin felt hot and he fisted his hands at his sides, trying not to notice the curve of her shoulder or the delicate outline of her collarbone.
“What did you want to talk about?” he managed to get out.
Her eyes snapped to his face. “Oh. I, um, I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. It kind of hit me all at once that we actually went through with it. What you did for me.” Her brown irises appeared almost black as they bounced back and forth between his. “I’ll never be able to repay you for this.”
“Stop saying that. I told you, it’s enough for me to see you happy.”
“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.”
