Page 89 of When Sky Breaks

It’s quiet.

I know she didn’t leave because her car is outside in the drive along with my truck, but the silence creates a ball of nerves in my stomach. Maybe she couldn’t handle being here and called someone to pick her up?

Or what if she’s more than a little sick and passed out on the floor somewhere?

Fuck.

I drop my keys and wallet on the island, barely registering the lemon scent of house cleaner lingering in the air as I walk down the hallway toward the bedrooms. She cleaned? While sick?

Irritated with myself for not hiding the cleaning supplies, I press open the door to the spare bedroom with a little too much force.

No one’s in it.

She’s been in here, though, if the clothes strewn about on the floor near the bathroom is any evidence of her having occupied it. Oh, and the unmade bed. Also, my book on the nightstand with what looks like—I squint—toilet paper hanging out as a bookmark.

All annoyance erased, I shake my head and huff out a laugh, scratching the nape of my neck. And she calls me a monster for dog-earing the thing.

Less agitated but still worried, I look outside the window to the backyard. She’s not there either.

Only one more place in this house she could be. Winter too, as I haven’t heard her bark.

Heart pounding, I take a deep breath and palm the cool door to my room, slowly turning the knob to open it. My stomach swoops out and warmth fizzes in my veins. Relief and something akin to sheer bliss flood my system as I lean on the doorframe and stare, mesmerized, at the sight.

I’d give anything to come home to this every day.

Sky lies curled around the pillow in my bed, her little chin tucked into the fabric. Winter is at her back, and both are in the throes of deep sleep.

Straightening, I sneak to the living room and grab my camera. I can’t lose this moment, especially if I can capture it forever. Pressing a few buttons, I focus the camera and lift it. Sky through the viewfinder is perfection. With a quick press of my index finger, I snap a picture.

This is now my favorite photo.

It’s everything I love.

Sky in my sweatshirt, in my bed, my dog curved around her protectively.

Her dog, if I’m completely honest. Winter was always meant to be Sky’s.

The sound of the shutter must have been loud enough to stir her because as I’m grinning like a damn fool at my camera, her sleepy voice calls out. “August?”

Darting my gaze to hers, I prop my camera up on the dresser and stride over to the side of the bed she’s on, crouching down at the edge of the mattress. “Hey Shortcake. How do you feel?”

Because of her rosy cheeks, I reach out and sweep aside some tangled hair to touch her forehead with the back of my hand. It’s cool to the touch.

“I’m okay. I feel much better.” The pink dots deepen on her cheeks. “I’m sorry I’m in here. I just couldn’t sleep and…”

I shake my head and can’t resist the urge to tease her. “Stay in my bed for as long as you like. You look damn good in it. And in my sweatshirt.”

Her neck reddens along with her face as she glances down at the sweatshirt. I can’t believe she’s hung onto it all this time.

“I couldn’t get rid of it,” she whispers, sitting up and curling her fingers into the cuffs of the fabric. The sheet slides away completely, and I realize she’s in nothing but my sweatshirt and tiny underwear.

Now it’s time for my cheeks to burn as I stare too long at her tan legs freckled from the summer. What I wouldn’t give to run my hands up her smooth skin and feel the heat between her thighs.

Would she get wet for me like she used to?

“I’m glad you didn’t.” Instead of acting on that fantasy, I drag my eyes back to hers and tweak the strings.

She grabs my wrist, holding onto it.

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