It was an image so real I could almost feel the blanket’s fleece, an image so real that when it wisped out of my thoughts, I felt a sense of loss so intense that tears pricked at my eyes. Which was ridiculous, because the vision wasn’t a mirage; it was something that would eventually come true, even if it wasn’t coming true as soon as I’d hoped.

A stray thought seared my brain. What if Rafe was being so slow with the house because he’d fallen out of love with me? What if he was getting tired of waiting for me to get the hint? What if—

“Don’t be stupid,” I said out loud as I left the houseboat and walked up to the restaurant. Rafe loved me and I loved him and the delays all had reasonable explanations. We were fine. It would work out. All I had to do was be patient.

“Here.” Rafe, who’d already claimed Round Table’s prime booth, pushed a steaming mug of coffee at me. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

I slid in next to him and leaned over for a morning kiss. “You give me all sorts of things.”

“Colds, flus, sore throats.” Ash sat across from us. “Viruses. Headaches. Hangovers.”

Rafe grinned. “Not my fault if you can’t keep up with the big dogs.”

Why was it that every time males came in contact with each other, it turned into a contest? Was it the testosterone zipping around in their bodies? Was it a learned behavior? Likely both, but was there a way to unlearn it? Then again, if we eliminated male competition, there would likely be unintended consequences.

“Hello? Are you in there?”

I blinked, because Rafe’s fingers were in front of my face, snapping away. “Sorry. I was just—”

“Thinking,” Rafe and Ash said simultaneously. Then they nodded at each other and did a knuckle bump.

“What’s the occasion?” Ash gestured at the mostly empty restaurant.

“Two birds with one stone,” I said. “Rafe was busy with his buddy Dave all weekend and I didn’t see hide nor hair of him, and I wanted to ask if you’d learned anything about Max’s friends.”

At the beginning of my sentence, Ash’s expression had been one of puzzlement, but by the time I got to the part about Max, it had smoothed out into comprehension and a teensy bit of reluctance.

“Right. About that.” He paused. “Hang on, here’s Sabrina to take our order.”

I twisted around. Sabrina was in the back, talking to her husband, Bill. Untwisting, I said, “Quit with the delaying tactics. She’s five minutes away from our table, and anyway, when was the last time you got to put in your own order?”

“Last March,” Ash said. “When did she start ordering for us, anyway?”