Lucas was standing at the counter, pouring into his mug from a full pot. He was shirtless and barefoot, wearing only loose red sweatpants. God, he looked sexy. All his hours of work in the garage had honed his muscles and roughened his big hands. But his face looked softer in the morning, as if it hadn’t settled into his permanent scowl quite yet.

“Good morning,” I said, after leaning silently against the doorframe for several moments to admire him.

He glanced at me over his shoulder. “I was wondering when you’d say something. You’re not so sneaky, girl, I heard you come down the stairs. What were you doing back there anyway, staring at my ass?”

I snickered, coming to stand beside him. “Maybe. So what if I was? You have a nice ass.”

He raised his eyebrows at me before quickly turning his head back toward the cabinets. “Do you want some coffee?” he said, already pulling down a mug for me.

“With cream and sugar, please.”

My eyes roamed over his back as he prepared it. His elaborate back tattoo appeared to still be in progress; the outline was there but shading was absent. But the detail it already contained was stunning. A large tree was the main focus of the piece, the trunk following his spine, its branches sprawled across his shoulders.

“What inspired the back tattoo?” I said as he turned with both our mugs in his hands. He handed mine over, and I took a sip, the scent and rich taste instantly elevating my mood.

“Let’s go sit on the porch,” he said. “It’s not too hot out yet.”

The morning air was fresh and cool, but the clear blue sky told me it would be warming up swiftly. We sat in the shade of the porch; I took an old rocking chair that creaked slightly as I swayed, while Lucas sat on the bench seat beside me.

“Where I used to live, when I was kid, we had a big tree in the backyard,” he said, after several moments of silence. “It was a massive old thing. Huge limbs, and a lot of them were low to the ground so it was easy to climb up. My brother and I used to make these shitty, hazardous forts in the branches. Like we’d literally take old scrap wood and sheet metal, and heap it all together with some rope and nails. Not much of a treehouse, but…I love those memories. They’re good. I’m trying to focus more on remembering what was good instead of everything else.” He sipped his coffee, nodding slowly. “So that was what inspired the tattoo. Good memories.”

“I never knew you had a brother,” I said. “When you moved here, he didn’t…”