Page 90 of Drowning in Darkness

“Absolutely not.”

“But—”

His hand wraps around the back of my head, burying in the tangle of curls. “Listen to me, Stephanie King. If I have to put up with you wandering into my bed because for some unfathomable reason you consider this to be a safe place, then I will. Any lock is a potential for seconds wasted if the wrong person is on the other side as I break it down.”

My eyes flick between his, finding only resolve burning in them. This isn’t an argument I’m going to win.

“Fine.”

He quirks a brow. “Fine?”

“I’m not obstinate for no reason. I can understand your logic and know when it beats my emotion.”

He huffs a laugh. “Good to know you can be a good girl.”

Warmth rises in my cheeks. “Don’t get used to it. It happens once in a full moon.”

“I’m sure I could get you to behave with a little persuasion.”

Well, hot damn, if James Austin isn’t a teasing hot temptation first thing in the morning. I need to break the tension before I ask him to test how bad my breath is.

“We’re going to pick up parcels today?” I check.

His lips twitch, and he lets his hand trail through my curls, pinching one between his fingers before allowing it to spring back and break our connection. “Go get ready. I’ll make us breakfast before we go.”

A grin curves my lips. I’m getting out, if only for a few hours. “Do I have time for a shower?”

“Make it quick. I want to be back before the town gets busy.”

I’m up and out of bed, flying into the bathroom seconds later. After a quick scrub and brushed teeth, I hurry into the kitchen. He better not have left without me. I think I’d break a little inside.

But no, he’s at the stove, flipping pancakes like he once worked as a short-order cook. I don’t have the coordination skills for such things, so it’s always been a marvel to me.

“I ran out of bacon, but I have fresh mixed berries and syrup,” he informs me as I slide onto the stool.

“Perfect,” I reply, my stomach growling.

I feel like I slept for a week and still need more. Probably the drug-induced hangover from the pain meds, but could also be because of where I slept and who I slept next to. I freeze as that thought settles. I slept next to a man. Actually, I sought him out during a sleepwalking episode, so my unconscious chose him as a safe space. That’s a startling realization, and something I thought I might never achieve.

“Eat up,” he says, making me blink. He’s sitting next to me and has already demolished half of his breakfast while my fork hovers in the air like a wax statue.

I dig in, not really tasting what I’m certain are great pancakes because I’m tangled up in thoughts. Not just of desire, which I’ve already accepted, but what if... what if he’s my person? Not the one who heals me of my past, but gives me something I’ve struggled to grasp—a future filled with shared moments, private jokes, family, love. What if he’s that one person meant to be mine?

“Stephanie? What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

I shake my head and pull on the sleeves of the cream sweater, unconsciously hiding the forever scars of my moment of weakness. “Nothing, just a little groggy.”

“Well, you slept like a baby, snoring aside.”

I gasp. “I do not snore.”

“You absolutely do. Cute little puppy snores. You also talk in your sleep.”

My jaw tenses. “Did I say anything interesting?”

“Many things. Now eat. You have ten minutes before I leave, and I want to see a clean plate.” Then he’s gone, leaving me to eat alone with a thousand possibilities of what I might have uttered while my walls were down. Whatever it is, he’s not running, so it can’t have been that bad.

Thirty minutes later, we’re in his truck and rolling down the mountain road that I came up only a few days ago. Why does it feel like years? Time is such a fickle yet cruel mistress.