The smell of fresh-brewed coffee and sizzling bacon rushed out to greet him. Olivia stood in front of the stove, spatula in hand. Her dark blond hair was tousled, as if she’d just rolled out of bed. Her feet were bare, her long legs equally bare, and he realized where his shirt had gone. She wore it. Unbuttoned. With nothing underneath.

As she turned, he stopped to stare. Olivia, fresh out of bed, naked but for his shirt. There was a moment where he was quite certain he really was dreaming, conjuring up a favorite fantasy image, the memory of the first morning he’d woken in her apartment and seen her like this.

“The smell didn’t disturb you, did it?” she asked. “I shut the door and tried to keep quiet.”

He said nothing.

“So…breakfast?” she said. “Even if it’s the opposite of actual breakfast time.”

He checked the clock on the microwave. Dim light filtered through the window, and he realized the sun was setting, not rising.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, concern creeping in.

He turned and saw her again. Olivia naked, wearing his shirt. She’d said something about breakfast, but he hadn’t quite caught it. He nodded and walked toward her. She set down the spatula with a growing frown.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

He put his hands on her hips and boosted her onto the counter. Then he stepped between her knees, his fingers going to her hair, murmuring, “Everything’s fine,” before showing her how fine it was.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

After breakfast, we went outside. Yes, it was a December evening, and in Illinois that is not “take your coffee into the garden” weather. We didn’t care. We had blankets and a garden fireplace, and the fenced yard kept the wind at bay.

It also gave me the excuse to get close to Gabriel, followed by the realization I didn’t need an excuse. Whenever I’d thought of a relationship with him, I’d always presumed there’d still be a barrier, that he’d be the kind of guy who didn’t encourage intimacy outside the bedroom. Yet even before tonight, I’d seen signs that maybe his general distaste for physical contact no longer extended to me. Now, he was the one settling in on the ground with the blanket, his arm lifting for me to curl up beside him, his arm around my waist, holding me close.

I buried my feet under Lloergan’s warm bulk. “If I buy this place, I might replace the deck with a conservatory. It would give me winter sun and semi-outdoor living space. What do you think?”