He let himself in and shook off as much water as he could as he scanned the house. The houses in this chunk of town were tiny. Most of them had originally been modest summer cottages. When you stood in the front door of his house, you could see all of it, with the exception of the two little bedrooms down the hall. There was the kitchen to one side with its tiny breakfast nook that was also the lunch nook and the dinner nook since it was the only dining table in the space—and even so, it wasn’t used that much for dining because it usually had Clara’s homework all over it.

They tended to eat in the small living room on the other side, where there was a coffee table flanked by a worn armchair and a sofa.

A sofa on which Evie Abbott was sleeping.

She was wearing one of his shirts, too, an unremarkable London Knights one so worn it was practically a rag. He could hear the dryer going in the small laundry closet tucked in the kitchen, so she must have thrown her wet stuff in there and heeded his order to help herself to dry clothing. When he’d suggested that, he’d been thinking she would wear something of Clara’s. That she had raided his closet instead…did something to him. Something that made him, suddenly, not as tired as he’d been a moment ago.

She had an afghan over her lower body, but it was just a small throw, so he tiptoed to the linen closet to get a proper quilt. He was a little sorry he wouldn’t get to talk to her tonight, but clearly the correct course of action was to tuck her in and let her sleep. She would still be sleeping in the next room, which was what he’d just been thinking he wanted.

He didn’t want to sleep anymore, though, was the thing.

But he was good at sublimating his own wants. He paused over the couch, poised to settle the quilt over her. She must have sensed his presence. Her eyes fluttered open. He couldn’t say he was disappointed.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered, because that was what he was supposed to say.

He remembered, suddenly, that time in the lake when she’d told him her mouth couldn’t lie to him. Apparently the rogue mouth problem was catching, but he had it in reverse: his mouth was too damn honorable.

Regardless, she did not go back to sleep. She yawned and blinked her eyes open more fully, and something happened in his chest. It was a strange awareness of a rumbling to come. It felt like his stomach was about to growl, except the sensation was in his chest.