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I love you.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
SUGAR KANE
ANDRÉ
He woke up when the light of dawn began to filter in through the blinds.
It took him a half second to remember where he was, but as soon as he did, he was reaching across the sheets to touch her one more time.
Nikki stirred in her sleep but didn’t wake. Her blonde hair spread out along the pillow like strands of silk, and he brushed it aside to lay soft kisses across her shoulders and down her spine before getting up.
He slid on his sweats and went to the bathroom.
Then he figured out how to work the coffee maker.
When he had a hot cup of coffee, he went out on the covered porch and took a seat in one of the Adirondack chairs.
Last night had not gone as he’d planned.
It had been far better.
He’d had every intention of having a serious conversation about what she was running away from, but she’d walked out of that bathroom wearing his old shirt—a shirt she had kept, despite everything—and that was it.
He was deep in his peaceful ruminations when Nikki joined him. He spread his legs and patted a thigh. She had his shirt back on, and again, it did things to him to see her in it.
She slid sideways onto his lap and rested her shoulder and head against his chest while her feet went over the armrest.
He handed her his coffee and she took a sip.
“How did you sleep?” he asked, pressing his lips to the top of her head.
“Like a well-fucked woman,” she murmured and then snorted.
He grinned and hugged her closer. One arm over her middle to hold her hip.
They sat in peaceful silence, listening to the lake come alive with the day.
This was it. Right there. Her, in his arms. That was all he’d ever needed.
And he had it.
“Did you know you called me on Christmas?” she asked, breaking the silence and mentioning the last thing he expected her to say.
He stiffened and she noticed. She sat up a little to see his face.
“I assumed it was a pocket dial,” she said, her cheeks turning pink.
“It wasn’t a pocket dial,” he said.
Her eyebrows dipped and she tilted her head in question.
He watched her carefully. “I remember talking to you…”
She shook her head once. “No. It was just static and noise.”
He huffed a laugh, the building tension releasing in a single breath. “To be fair, I was two bottles deep into Sabine’s pink wine.” He chuckled and rubbed a hand up and down her arm. “I don’t know if I’m relieved or annoyed that I couldn’t get even that right.”
