Page 127 of At First Dance
She lifts a brow and presses her free hand to my chest. “You walk like a damn cowboy. All stompy.”
I chuckle and duck my head to kiss her forehead. “That so?”
“Mm-hmm.” She leans in and rests her cheek against me. “You sleep okay?”
“With you here?” I breathe into her hair. “Better than I have in years.”
We stand like that for a beat. Two cups of coffee on the counter. Her body warm against mine. Her scent—vanilla and something wild—twists through my chest.
“Want breakfast?” I murmur.
“Only if you’re making it.”
I raise a brow. “You’re not gonna serenade me with eggs and bacon?”
“Absolutely not. I’m the talent, remember? You’re the camp director-slash-handsome cowboy who’s good with spatulas.”
I shake my head but can’t fight the grin. “You’re gonna be trouble today, aren’t you?”
She slides her hands under the hem of the flannel pajama pants, cold fingers grazing my hips. “Maybe.”
I catch her wrists gently. “Careful. I can only take so much before I forget all about that breakfast.”
She leans up and presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Save it for later, cowboy. You owe me bacon.”
“Damn right I do.”
As she hops up to sit on the counter, swinging her legs, I reach for the skillet. The whole room glows with the kind of light that makes memories. I swear I could do this every morning for the rest of my life and never get tired of it.
I slide eggs and bacon onto two plates and set them in front of Ivy. She grins like I just handed her a Grammy.
“Forks, please,” I say, easing the last of the soft eggs onto two plates. “Bacon’s crisp, yolks just shy of runny—the way you like them.”
She smiles over the rim of her mug. “Smug. But accurate. Even if the bacon flopped, you’ve got other talents.”
I lift a brow. “Name three.”
“Rescuing me. Remembering my coffee order. Kissing like you mean it.”
“Eat first,” I murmur, setting her plate down. “Then we can practice the third.”
My body reacts before my brain does, flashing back to last night. To the way she fit against me. To the sound she made when she whispered my name.
I clear my throat and sit down across from her. “You really are trouble.”
“Only for you.”
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the kind that makes me forget every doubt I’ve ever had about letting someone in again. Ivy hums between bites, swaying a little in her seat like the melody in her head is too strong to sit still.
“You’ve been humming that tune all morning,” I say.
She blinks, caught. “Yeah… it’s stuck in my head.”
“Yours?”
She nods slowly. “A new one. I started it in Nashville, then had the seizure. It’s not finished.”
I lean my elbows on the table. “Is it about me?”
