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She hummed. A beat. “Or maybe it’s… down here?”
She touched two fingers to the wet patch on her tank top, right over one nipple — the silver barbell piercing clearly visible through the soaked white fabric — with wide-eyed, sparkling innocence. She moved her fingers slowly.
Oh shit.
Heat crawled up the back of his neck. Cal took a step back.
“I think… I left something in the barn,” he muttered.
“You just came from the barn.”
“I may have forgotten—”
“What did you forget?”
“You know… that thing. The barn thing.”
She took a step toward him, head tilted, that warm, knowing smile reaching all the way to her eyes.
“The… barn thing?” she echoed. “Hmm… Cal? Where are barn things made?”
Another step.
She was close enough now that he could smell orange juice, warm skin, and something sweeter underneath. The back of his neck was fully on fire.
“Barn,” he said, already turning. “Gotta go.”
He made it through the mudroom and out the door. Behind him, Sage’s laughter rang out — real, bright, and completely delighted. Just before the door closed, he barely caught her last words:
“Looks like I’m not the only one.”
Cal stood on the porch in his bare feet, December cold biting at his skin, and breathed. He told himself he’d only take four minutes.
He took eight.
She’d changed into another tank top and soft sleep shorts by the time he came back inside.
Thank you, Heavenly Father.
She looked innocently sweet, perched on the stool and kicking her legs lightly, waiting for him. Her lavender-streaked hair was still half-up in that messy bun, a few strands falling around her face, and the soft morning light caught on the little silver ring in her tongue when she smiled.
Cal felt like he deserved a goddamn medal for keeping his eyes on her face instead of the other piercings he’d seen earlier.
“Hi,” she said, bright and happy.
Cal grunted.
“Hmmm… hold on a sec,” Sage said. She reached over, grabbed a notepad from the counter, and flipped through a few pages. “Yeah… I don’t know that grunt yet. What’s it mean?”
Cal tried so hard not to laugh. He lost. Badly. A deep, rumbling chuckle broke free as he sat down at the table. Sage’s whole face lit up and her eyes sparkled, a delighted little grin spreading across her lips as she watched him. She looked ridiculously proud of herself.
Still chuckling, Cal glanced down at the table, shaking his head.
The eggs were plated. The bacon was stacked with pure optimism. The orange juice — salvaged from the surviving oranges after the lid revelation — actually looked drinkable. Cal noted all of it privately and said nothing about the hierarchy of kitchen disasters.
He reached over and took her small hand in his much larger one, then offered his other hand across the island. Sage slid hers into it without hesitation, her fingers curling around his.
He bowed his head.
