Page 94 of At First Flight
But.
I brace for it.
“But I’m still scared,” she admits. “Scared of losing myself again. Of building a life around someone else’s world only to have it ripped out from under me.”
“I don’t want you to build your life around me,” I say gently. “I want you to build itwithme. Your own life. Your own dreams. But maybe, if you let me, I can be a part of it.”
Her eyes shimmer. “You already are.”
And that’s when I know—I love her. Not because she fits into my life. But because she makes me want to be a better man inside it.
The morning smells like clean air and wet grass; the sky washed clear after the storm. Pale sunlight filters through the blinds, striping the sheets in gold. I wake slowly, the weight of something warm and soft pressed against my side.
Lila.
Her leg is draped over mine. One arm flung across my chest like she’s claiming me even in her sleep. Her hair’s a mess of waves across the pillow, and her lips are parted in a way that makes my chest ache and my body stir, even now.
But I don’t move. I just watch her breathe.
And for a man who once built walls so thick no one could see over them, I’ve never felt more exposed.
She shifts slightly, murmuring something that sounds like my name. Her palm presses firmly against my chest as if sensing that I’m already deep in my head.
“I’m still here,” she mumbles, not even opening her eyes.
“I know,” I whisper. “I’m not sure I deserve that.”
Her eyes blink open, sleepy but focused. “You deserve someone who sees you. All of you. Even the rough parts.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
After a few quiet minutes, she sits up and reaches for my T-shirt on the floor. I watch her stretch as she pulls it on, the hem hitting high on her thighs. It’s a simple thing but packs a powerful punch to my chest. But it guts me all over again. I want this every morning. I want her to choose to stay.
I follow her into the kitchen, both of us barefoot and bleary. The kids are still asleep, the house wrapped in a rare kind of peace. I brew coffee while she digs through the pantry, humming quietly under her breath.
“I’ll make breakfast,” I offer.
She glances at me over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “You mean you’ll reheat pancakes from yesterday.”
“Reheatingisa form of cooking,” I deadpan.
She smirks and turns back to the cabinets.
God, I love that smirk.
We move around each other easily, bumping hips, passing mugs, brushing shoulders. Her fingers graze mine as she hands me the syrup, and I can’t help the way I lean in, kissing the curve of her neck.
She shivers, just a little, that adorable ass of hers rubbing against my brief-covered cock.
“Still trouble,” I murmur.
She grins. “You’re the one who told me to hold the headboard.”
My coffee nearly slips from my hand.
I clear my throat and turn to hide the grin threatening to split my face. “Worth it.”
A knock on the front door startles us both. I glance at the clock. Too early for a lawyer. Too early for a neighbor. I open the door, and it’s Rowan.
