Page 82 of Tattered Edges

Rory scowled at me, giving the back of my neck a gentle squeeze as he insisted, “Don’t cry about it.”

“Sorry,” I whimpered, attempting to blink away the excess moisture.

“Shite, don’t apologize, either.”

“Well, whatamI allowed to do?” I huffed good-naturedly.

His scowl softened as he traced the pad of his thumb beneath one of my eyes, catching a rogue tear. “I hate to see you upset, is all. Especially when it’s because someone hurt you.”

“It’s my fault,” I muttered with a feeble shrug. “My expectations were far too high, I guess.”

“No. No, they weren’t. You were just dealing with people who weren’t big enough to rise to the occasion.” He swept away another tear as he demanded, “Promise me something?”

“What?”

“Don’t ever let me off the hook that easy. When I fall short, when I fuck up, don’t lower your expectations—challenge me to rise to them. You’re worthy of the effort, Sawyer. I hope you know that.”

In my fragile state, I didn’t stand a chance against that promise.

Grabbing hold of his shirt with both hands, I buried my face in his chest and mumbled, “Baby, you can’t say stuff like that to me when I’m already emotional and you want me to stop crying.”

I felt as much as I heard his clipped, low chuckle as he pressed a kiss into my hair, cradling me against him. “Understood.” He kissed me again, then muttered, “Is that a promise, then?”

He’d said the words as if they were easy—as if such a promise between two people was common. In my experience, it was far from it.

Yet, we’d already come this far. We’d already started something unstoppable. We were givingusa proper go—and I wanted to feel as though I was worth the effort.

“Sweetheart?” he called softly.

I sniffled, pulling my face away enough to be able to make out his. I felt the last of my tears clinging to my eyelashes, but I didn’t bother to wipe them away as I replied, “I’ll promise you if you promise me the same thing.”

He leaned toward me, lining his lips up with mine as he whispered, “Promise,” sealing his word with a kiss.

Iwoketothefeel of his lips, trailing kisses across my bare shoulder. Pulling in a deep breath, every muscle in my body relaxed as the scent of birch and bergamot filled my nose. Rory kissed me again, adding a little tongue, reminding me of how we’d spent the previous night—naked and in his bed.

I hummed my delight, not bothering to open my eyes as I murmured, “This is a wake-up call I could get used to.”

“There’s a wee bit of coffee, too.”

This got my eyes open.

I turned my head, and there it was—a mug of piping hot coffee waiting for me on his nightstand. My smile turned into a groggy grin as I rolled onto my back and sought out my ginger.

And he was—myginger.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing only a pair of sweatpants as he smirked down at me.

“Morning.”

“Careful, babe. If you wake me with kisses and coffee once, I might expect it again.”

“Trust me, there’s more where that came from—but today’s not that kind of morning. We’ve got someplace to be.”

I knit my eyebrows together, tucking the top sheet under my arms as I sat up and inquired, “We do? But it’s Sunday. Manchester isn’t playing and you don’t have to be to work until later.”

He reached for my coffee, holding it in front of me until I took it.

“Drink up. I told him we’d be there at ten, and it’s nearly nine already.”

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