Page 64 of The Luminosity of Loriana Harper

Loriana breezed in moments later. “Oh, good, you’re up.”

Mitch was in the process of throwing the covers off when she blocked him and put them back up.

“Relax.”

He pointed to the window. “What time is it?”

“Eight-thirty. I have to be at work soon. I considered waking you, but you looked so peaceful. Hopefully I haven’t made you late.”

“Uh, no. Nothing on the books this morning.”

“Great.” Her smile radiated and her brown eyes shone. Then she snagged his hand. She flipped it so his palm faced up.

To his shock, she dropped a key.

“You can lock up when you go. If you want, you can bring the key around to the library. If you really want, you can hang on to it. Just in case, you know, you want a repeat of last night.”

“Repeat?” He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs.

She tried to snatch the key back.

He snagged her wrist with his other hand. “Sorry, morning brain fog. I’m someone who needs to wake up slowly with multiple alarms.”

Her expression lightened. Then she knelt on the bed to kiss him. “Text me later, and we’ll make plans. If you’re amenable. I don’t want to be pushy.”

“Sometimes pushy’s okay.” He yanked her in for another kiss. To hell with morning breath. “Have a great day.”

“I will.” She eased off the bed and headed out of the room. Her dark-blue jeans were paired with a mint-green turtleneck sweater.

She looked prim and proper, but as he remembered how she’d come apart in his arms last night, he felt a modicum of pride.

A disembodied, “Can you feed the cat?” carried through the house just before the side door slammed shut.

Moments later, Plato leapt onto the bed and eyed him.

Mitch sighed, threw off the covers, and eased off the bed. He headed to the bathroom, casting a caustic look at the cat. “I’m doing my business first. Then you get fed.”

Plato leapt off the bed and left the room.

See? You can handle—

The yowl of indignation carried all the way from the kitchen to the master bedroom.

Oh my God, the neighbors are going to report me for animal abuse.

Heedless of the consequences, he sprinted down the hall—buck naked—and stopped when he got to the kitchen.

Apparently Plato hadn’t expected such expediency because he ceased the caterwauling.

Mitch snagged a plate from the cupboard and quickly upended the container of food. He placed it on the floor and took a small measure of pleasure when the cat gave him one last look before pouncing on the food. The purrs followed him quite a ways as he backtracked. Quickly, he located the key he’d dropped in his haste to get to the kitchen.

Do I put it on my keyring? That’s too presumptuous. Right?

He had no experience in this area. He’d never been given a key and, in turn, he’d never given a key. Never even come close. He’d dated Marjorie for seven months and had never spent the night. And she’d never deigned to come back to his place. That hadn’t been a hardship—her salary was easily twenty times his. Her home had been luxurious while his had been…utilitarian. Much as the way he lived now.

You could hang a picture or painting or something.

True. But those things spoke of permanence, and even though he was convinced he was staying in Mission City, he couldn’t help thinking that hanging something would jinx that notion. Which was positively ridiculous.

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