Page 67 of Fixing to Be Mine

I yawn, and he notices.

“Come on. Let’s go to bed. It’s been a long night.”

Colt stands, and so do I. The whiskey hits me, and the world sways. He hooks his pinkie with mine and leads me to the bedroom.

As I fall asleep in his arms, I ask myself what I did to deserve finding him. I should send Donovan and Skye a thank-you note.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

COLT

Before I open my eyes, the first thing I notice is the weight of her leg draped across mine. The second thing is the smell of her citrus shampoo. Sunlight filters in through the curtains, casting long beams across the bed and cutting through the quiet like a gentle reminder that morning has arrived.

I shift slightly, not wanting to wake her and not wanting this moment to end. There’s something sacred about the way she fits against me, like she’s always belonged in my arms. When I finally blink my eyes open to steal a glance of her, she’s already watching me.

She smiles, and I return it. Her cheek rests against my arm, and her dark hair fans out across the pillow she didn’t use. Her eyes are soft with sleep, but there’s something else there too.

“Mornin’,” I say, my voice rough from sleep.

Her green eyes sparkle. “You’re a dream.”

The way she says it, unguarded and slightly breathless, makes my chest tighten in the best way.

I stretch, then shift to hold her tighter. The sheet slips lower across my waist, but I don’t bother adjusting it. Her gaze drops for half a second, and her cheeks turn pink.

I let the moment hang before speaking. “Did we share a twenty-thousand-dollar kiss last night, or did I imagine it?”

She laughs and buries her face in my chest for a second. “It happened. I’m sure the local rumors have exploded.”

“Still waiting for the wedding rumors,” I reply.

I reach out and lightly brush her shoulder, where my T-shirt has slipped, exposing the smooth skin there. I let my thumb trace the edge of the fabric.

“Can I kiss you?” I mutter.

My politeness stuns her.

“You don’t have to ask.” Her voice is quiet. “If you ever want to kiss me, I want you to.”

It’s the permission I needed. I lean in, one hand rising to cradle the side of her face. My fingers slide into her hair, and I watch her eyes flutter shut before our mouths meet. It’s gentle at first, tender in a way that feels like we have a future. Her lips move against mine with familiarity that stuns me. There’s nothing unsure about the way she responds. She shifts closer, her hand pressing flat against my chest. Her palm is warm and steady, her breath brushing my cheek.

The kiss deepens naturally, and says more than either of us has been willing to put into words. I lose myself in her mouth, in the heat of her body so close to mine, in the quiet vulnerability that fills the space between us.

When we finally break apart, I rest my forehead against hers. Her eyes are still closed, and her mouth is curved into the sleepiest smile.

“I’m gonna need more mornings like this,” I whisper.

She lets out a breath and nods. “Yeah. Me too.”

We stay in bed for a while after that kiss, wrapped in quiet smiles and skin-warmed sheets. I don’t think either of us wants to move, not when something real is taking shape between us.But eventually, the sound of birds outside pulls us out of the cocoon we made.

She stretches like a cat before slipping out of bed, wearing one of my old T-shirts, and heading down the hallway barefoot. I pull on some jeans and run a hand across my face that still smells like her hair.

The kiss still lingers on my lips, and I can’t stop smiling.

By the time I get to the kitchen, the air smells like freshly brewed coffee, toasted bread, and something else I can’t quite name yet. She sits on the counter, legs swinging. Her hair is a mess, toast in one hand, coffee mug balanced in the other, like she’s claimed this kitchen for herself.

“You’re making yourself at home,” I say, pouring a mug and moving closer to her.

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