In the morning, I wake to an empty bed and the smell of coffee thick in the air. I roll over, rustling the sheets, and blink at the vision of Greg standing in the doorway to my bedroom. “Morning,” he says, his voice still husky with sleep. He holds a breakfast tray with both hands. “I hoped I could sneak back before you got up.”
“I’ve been up for a while,” I joke. “Ever since your first kiss. Come ‘ere and give me another.”
He moves quietly across the hardwood floor, dressed in his underwear and an old, weathered T-shirt I found in the drawer before we went to bed. It used to be Lisa’s—she liked to buy double extra-large men’s shirts to sleep in. She liked to tease me about not being a big, burly man with clothes she could steal. The shirt is faded now, more gray than blue, and smells fa
