Page 73 of Broken-Hearted

“Blackshaw?” I frown.

He sinks onto the bed and takes over drying my hair. “You’re falling asleep. Let me.”

He’s right. I am falling asleep. “It’s okay.”

But I don’t fight too hard to keep hold of my small towel.

It’s a struggle to stay awake as he carefully works my brush through my hair from the ends first, detangling it without pulling on my scalp. It feels too good to complain.

Two minutes later, my head is slumping.

Then I’m blinking my eyes open to take in a room flooded with sunlight.

Nathan is sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed.

I yawn. “Thanks for brushing my hair.”

“It wasn’t a hardship, and you lied.” He kisses my forehead and I realize soft, forehead kisses have easily become my new favorite thing.

“About what?”

“You don’t look like a fluffy poodle.”

I pat his thigh. “You are a big, fat liar, but thank you.”

The corners of his eyes pull in a smile as he dips his head and kisses me. “I have to go to the house.”

“More toddler wrangling?”

“Nope. Something else,” he says evasively.

I eye him, curious. “And that something else is…”

He kisses me again. “Tell you later. Go back to sleep. It’s still early.”

“And if I want you to stay?” A new question from me. I’m usually pushing people away or doing the running.

He studies me for the longest moment, a soft smile on his lips. “How about dinner later when I’ve finished doing my thing?”

“You’re cooking?”

He snorts. “I can wrangle toddlers and I can throw together breakfast. That’s it. Madi, Dean’s mate set up a food delivery business recently. One of those meal delivery items is a romantic dinner for two.”

I perk up. “I don’t have to cook?”

He laughs. “Neither do I. I’ll see you later, okay?”

I yawn, closing my eyes. “You’ve got yourself a date, Blackshaw.”

19

I’ve never been patient. Pair my impatience with boredom and a desperate need to find out what the hell Nathan’s surprise is, and I’m bouncing out of bed not five minutes after he left.

I have the fastest shower in the world, brush my teeth, and once I’ve stuffed myself into clean jeans, a sweatshirt, and my sneakers, I’m braiding my hair as I rush out of my cabin and come to a screaming stop.

It’s early.

Maybe six or even seven. A brief glance at my cell phone before I got up revealed Nathan wasn’t joking when he said I should go back to sleep.

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