Page 127 of Flirty Fall Fling

The look on her face when I slid that ring on her finger did something to me.

I’ve spent thirty-four years being the man in the room who can explain most things. Not this.

Blaire shifts against me and murmurs something I don’t catch. I move my arm so she can come closer. I don’t plan on wasting any of the days I have left with her.

She said we can discuss this tomorrow. Maybe I’ll get up and start the fire early and make coffee in the French press, like she did for me this morning.

29

BLAIRE

Iwake up sweating, and this is the coldest room in the cabin.

There’s only one fireplace, and the heat rarely makes it down the hall.

I’ve slept in this bed many falls and winters with my face tucked under the thick blankets because my nose was cold. Last night, Jamie put his chest to my back and held me while I fell asleep.

The door is open, and the air smells like coffee and bacon in a hot skillet.

I push the blankets off me and put my feet on the floor. His clothes are in a small pile off to the side. I glance down at my left hand, my ring finger now bare. When Jamie slid that ring onto my finger, it was like the world stopped spinning. It fit. It felt like a sign. The temperature in the room changed. I forgot to breathe. So did he, and neither of us said a word about it.

I pull a T-shirt from the dresser drawer and go find him.

The fire is blazing, and the curtains are open in every room. Sunlight leaks through. I peek out, seeing frost on the grass in the yard. The sun is barely over the ridge.

Jamie’s at the stove in his joggers with a dish towel hanging over one shoulder.

“There you are.” He’s smiling. “I made coffee. It’s been a long time since I’ve used a French press. Breakfast will be ready in about ten minutes.” He looks back and stops. “Mmm. Good morning.”

“Morning,” I say, giving him a sweet smile.

I move toward the French press. Beside it is a mug waiting for me. Jamie grabs it, pouring the perfect amount of brown sugar creamer in the bottom before handing it to me. The coffee is the exact color that I like.

“Thanks,” I say, blowing on it before sipping. “What’s the occasion?”

“Just another day with my favorite witch,” he says. “How did you sleep?”

“Great actually. You?”

“No complaints. You’re a good bed buddy.” He laughs and flips the bacon.

Eggs are cracked and fried in the cast-iron skillet. A few minutes later, he’s carrying our plates and sitting beside me.

My yolks are runny, and the whites are good—exactly how I like them. I take the toast and dip it into the yellow.

“Well?” he asks.

“As I said before, I could get used to this.”

“Me too.” He sips his coffee and watches me eat.

His hair’s wrecked, and there’s a mark on his neck that I put there. My eyes widen.

“Shit,” I whisper.

He notices what I’m focused on.

“What?”