As the night wore on, her eyelids drooped, and when he caught her trying to hide a yawn behind her cards, he took pity on her and tossed his almost-certainly-winning hand facedown onto the carpet. “You’re exhausted,” he said. “Why don’t you go the back room and make yourself comfortable in the chair?”

She set down her cards, stretched out on her side, and tucked her elbow under her head. “I’d rather stay here and just close my eyes for a bit,” she said, shooting him a sleepy, grateful smile.

“Of course.” He grabbed one of the soft cushions and nudged it under her head.

She sighed as she nestled her cheek against it, and he suddenly felt intensely and irrationally jealous. Of her pillow.

“If I doze for more than a half hour, wake me,” she mumbled, her eyelashes fluttering valiantly but ultimately losing their struggle.

“Sleep well, Sophie,” he said, more to himself than her. When he sensed he could move without disturbing her, he quietly rose, retrieved his jacket from the chair, and gently laid it over her, covering her from her shoulder to hip. He turned the lantern low before returning to the floor, where he reclined and laid his head on a cushion across from her.

Somewhat shamelessly, he watched her. Wondered at the ease and perfection of her slumber. Someone who drifted off to sleep in the space of two sentences surely had a soul as pure as the driven snow, a conscience as clear as a cloudless sky—and Reese couldn’t begin to fathom what that must be like.

He studied the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the slight parting of her lips. He observed the faint twitching of her eyelids and wondered if she dreamed of yellow roses or pink buttons or something else entirely.

As he watched her, he tucked his hand beneath the pillow and bent his knees, mirroring her pose. He inhaled and exhaled in time with her breathing. He closed his eyes and pictured her—greedily sifting buttons through her hands, helping him move furniture around the shop, smiling in the moonlight in Lady Rufflebum’s garden.

He lingered with her in that peaceful twilight, calm and content, until eventually—miraculously—he fell asleep.

Sophie stirred, squeezing her eyes shut to protest the beam of sunshine slicing through the narrow opening between the drawn curtains. Her muscles felt a bit stiff, but she was warm and comfortable beneath a soft wool blanket that smelled like leather, brandy, and … Reese.

She moaned softly, rubbed her eyes, and peeked down at her torso to find that her blanket wasn’t a blanket at all, but Reese’s jacket. Heavens. She hadn’t meant to sleep through the night. The whole point in her staying at the shop with him was to help him fall—