Page 77 of Four Weekends and a Funeral

“I love your hair. And your eyes. What color are they? Sometimes they’re green, sometimes they’re brown.” He gently wraps a strand around his finger and tucks it behind my ear. The lightness of the touch makes me shiver.

I furrow my brow in a show of mock seriousness. “They’re this rare, coveted shade called ‘hazel.’ ”

He tugs at a sex-flattened curl. I pinch my lips together to conceal how stupidly happy I am.

Brushing my hand through his soft hair, I settle my fingers on the back of his neck. “I love your hair too. And your chest. I’ve always wondered what it felt like. That sounded a little creepy. I don’t want to make a sweater out of you or something.”

He smiles. “I’ve wondered what you feel like too.”

I shrug. “Now you know everything.”

“I don’t know. I think I have more questions.” He pulls me into him, kissing my neck, and I let out a high laugh.

When he comes up for air, he just stares at me. “So I’m the only one who’s ever called you Ali?”

“Yep.”

“That’s crazy to me. You’re such an Ali.”

“It’s my last name.”

The moment he hears it, he rolls his head away from me dramatically. “Ali Mullally! You let me call you that?” His face is the portrait of mortification, and he holds me even closer.

I wriggle in his arms. “No, it’s nice. Mara and Chelsea are the only people who have given me a nickname before. Never from a…”

I’ve fallen headfirst into the issue at hand. Is this a one-time-to-get-it-out-of-our-systems-and-say-goodbye-for-forever thing? Is this a to-be-repeated-many-more-times thing? Is this the beginning of a relationship?

Now that it’s morning, the rest of the world threatens to burst our happy bubble. With a rush, fear is creeping up my body like vines, threatening to strangle me.

Could this possibly work? He’s Sam’s best friend, I’m Sam’s ex, and we live hours apart.

“Hey. Where’d you go?” He places a thumb on my chin and pulls my face toward his. He analyzes my eyes, slowly leaning in for a kiss. It’s not like the passionate, starving kisses of last night. It’s soft and unwavering. It’s a hug—a caress—but it’s also vitalizing. If I woke up to Adam every morning, I might be able to give up coffee. Though Adam is clearly a caffeine addict, so I can’t imagine there would be a shortage of coffee in a life with him.

The realization that a future like that is unlikely makes me stop the kiss.

“We need coffee,” I say.

Adam stares at me for a beat, deciding whether to let whatever is brewing in my brain be. He nods but doesn’t release me. “I can make it. You stay in bed.” He kisses my nose and hops off the mattress, throwing on his boxer briefs. I take the opportunity to admire his broad, shirtless body in the daylight.

I watch him hunt through my cabinets before putting him out of his misery. “The K-Cups are on the tree next to the Keurig.”

“Keurig? No, Mullally! Unacceptable.”

“Your coffee snobbery is unacceptable.”

He pops in a K-Cup and presses the button on the machine. “There are so few good things about the morning. The smell of fresh ground beans is the only thing that makes waking up bearable.”

“The only thing?” I prop myself up in a casual pinup-girl pose, and I very nearly pull it off.

“I guess there are a few other things.” He lets a true smile escape before turning back to the coffee mugs.

I take advantage of his time in my kitchen to sneak into the bathroom, still naked. My hair’s worse than I feared, so I pull it into a loose topknot. When Adam approaches from behind, mug in hand, I realize he has a full-frontal view of my mastectomy scars in the mirror.

They’ve faded over the last year, but the horizontal lines remain a visible pink. As the first man who’s seen them since that ill-fated Bumble hookup, I brace myself for the moment they catch his eye.

I see the quick eye flit of a double take, but nothing resembling disgust. His expression hesitates, like you might pause over a tattoo or a beauty mark or some other feature that, though unexpected, is not unwelcome.

His lips meet my neck while his eyes capture mine in the mirror. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve wanted to do that when you put your hair up in front of me?” he asks with a sexy grin. “I put your coffee on the table next to your book stack.”

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