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“Could be.” He let me go into the loft before joining me in the low space with a deeply sloped ceiling. A wooden railing overlooked the rest of the cabin, and a large quilt-covered mattress on the floor served as a bed. But it was the books—so many books—on low shelves and stacks surrounding the bed that captivated me even more than the prospect of sex.
“Oh my God. How did I not know you’re a reader?”
He shrugged as he kicked off his boots before stretching out on his back on the bed. “Lot of hours to kill overseas. Picked up the mystery habit from Uncle Frank, who left me more than a few classics with this place. Reading is a good escape when there’s limited TV options on a deployment.”
“Which is your favorite?” I stroked the piles, counting thrillers, mysteries, graphic novels, a few sci-fi titles, and even some thick fantasy novels. It was a most unexpected and impressive library.
“I thought you wanted to fool around.” He reached for me, but I avoided his grasp with a laugh.
“In a moment. This is an important discovery.”
“I got your important discovery right here.” Chuckling along with me, he palmed his groin. “But fine. Poke around my shelves. I gotta admit a weakness for classic detectives. Sherlock. Poirot.”
“The bachelor detectives.”
“Yeah, guess I’m predictable.” Blushing, he reached for me again, and this time I let him pull me down next to him, landing half on his chest, peering down at him.
“Predictable but cute.” I bestowed a soft, teasing kiss on his lips right before Hercules barked. Oops. We’d left him investigating the kitchen.
“I guess we’d better hurry.” I tugged at Harley’s shirt, but he batted my hands away.
“Eh. I’ll keep. We should investigate the generator situation anyway, and this will be more fun later without a barking soundtrack.”
“Sorry.” Peering over the rail, I made a face at my dog, who was pacing in anxious circles. He truly was my canine doppelgänger.
“Don’t be.” Harley sat up enough to rub my back. “We’ve got time.”
I nodded. I could only hope he was right.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Harley
“Does my dog look fatter to you?” Ambrose mused as he set plates on the picnic table next to our coffee mugs. The rosy glow of the sunrise was giving way to a soft blue sky and a gentle morning breeze that made breakfast outside practically a necessity, the sort of morning that demanded enjoyment. Or so said Ambrose, who’d likely never suffered o-dark-thirty PT runs. And now, he was gazing down at his dog with the same merriment with which he’d proposed taking our eggs and toast outside.
“Is that a trick question?” Chuckling, I sat opposite him as the dog moved closer, undoubtedly hoping for dropped crumbs. Hercules was enjoying his newfound off-leash freedom, having finally convinced Ambrose that he wasn’t about to bolt for the tree line.
“No, seriously, I think he is putting on muscle.” Ambrose idly reached down to scratch the dog’s head, ruffling his ridiculous tufts of hair.
“The outdoors agrees with him.” I matched his easy tone.
“And me.” His dog might be dining like a tiny king on scraps from the grill and enjoying all the walking around we’d been up to, but it was Ambrose himself who seemed to be blooming, with a slight tan to his skin, windblown hair, and renewed sparkle in his eyes.
“And you.” Still smiling, I reached across the table to pat his hand. I couldn’t seem to stop touching Ambrose. It had started at the wedding, and the urge had only become stronger with each passing day. We’d been at the cabin three days now, and already he seemed like part of the fabric of this place.
In under a week, Ambrose was changing the cabin as much as it was changing him. A French press sat in the center of the table, new towels hung in my bathroom, and a plaid throw with jaunty leather accents was thrown over one of the chairs by the woodstove inside. The dog had a new bed that matched the throw, all products of a trip to town for supplies. We had vastly different definitions of what were necessary provisions, but I enjoyed indulging him, watching him work the same sort of magic he had with his own home, taking a comfortable space and making it even cozier with little touches.
“So what do we get to do today?” he asked. I loved how he put it like that. Get. Like every chore was a grand adventure. “More firewood chopping?”
“You just want to see me without a shirt,” I teased. It had been unseasonably warm the day before. Or perhaps I’d been warmed by his appreciative gaze and wanting to show off. Whatever the case, we now had enough wood to last quite a while.
“Guilty.” Ambrose’s eyes danced, mouth tilting in an especially kissable way. “Or maybe I want to play with your ax again.”
