Page 98 of Freeing Lark

But there was nothing. No gunshot. No Bullet falling into his arms. No whispered last words.

He let out a slow breath. For the first time in what felt like forever, he’d slept through the night.

He turned his head. Lark was still asleep beside him, curled slightly toward his side of the bed, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. A strand of brown hair had fallen across her face. Hoot reached over and carefully moved it aside.

He didn’t want to leave her. That realization should probably have concerned him more than it did. Unfortunately, his stomach had other plans.

He eased out of bed, pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, and headed downstairs to make breakfast.

He’d just flipped the first batch of bacon when he heard footsteps behind him.

“Something smells good.”

He turned. And stopped. Lark stood at the bottom of the stairs wearing an oversized T-shirt that definitely wasn’t hers. She’d pilfered his which he liked entirely too much. It was big on her, and he wondered if she had anything on underneath.

Her hair was mussed from sleep, and she was rubbing one eye with the back of her hand. He was disappointed to see a pair of soft sleep shorts peek out from under the shirt when she reached for the mug of coffee he’d slid across the counter to her.

Still, she looked... adorable. The word popped into his head without permission. Hoot nearly snorted. Adorable? Apparently, Lark had introduced him to vocabulary he’d never needed in his life.

“Morning,” she said.

“Morning.”

Her gaze dropped to the skillet. “Bacon?”

“And eggs.”

She smiled. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

“You like me because I can cook?”

“I like you for many reasons.” She wandered toward the counter. “Cooking is currently near the top of the list.”

He shook his head and turned back to the stove. “And here I thought my superior bedroom skills would be at the top.”

She blushed. “Well, that goes without saying. But can it really compete with bacon?”

“Point taken.”

While he finished breakfast, Lark wandered through the open-concept living area, taking in the room she’d only seen briefly before. His home was comfortable but uncomplicated. Dark wood, neutral furniture, a few framed photographs, little in the way of decoration.

She stopped near the bookshelf. Hoot watched her pick up one of the framed pictures. Her expression softened.

“Is this you?”

He glanced over. The photograph showed him between his parents, all three of them smiling at the camera. He was younger, leaner, and wearing his Navy dress uniform with his newly earned SEAL Trident pinned proudly to his chest.

“Yeah.”

“You look so young.”

“I was.”

She studied the picture. “They look happy. Proud.”

“They were.”

Something in her expression shifted. “Tell me about them.”