I wake up early, I always do, and I’m not someone who can laze about in bed after waking, so I walk into the en suite bathroom and take a long, luxurious shower, brush my teeth, and enjoy feeling rested. After dressing in the clothes I’d borrowed last evening, I pad downstairs—unwilling to wake him if he’s still asleep—in search of the coffee machine, but when I get to the kitchen, he’s already there.
His back is turned toward me as he’s standing by the sink, cleaning up after yesterday’s dinner. A pair of sweats hang low on his hips, and he’s shirtless. He’s got suds up to his elbows, and I can’t take my eyes off how the muscles in his arms flex as he moves. The back of his neck and his arms are more tanned than the rest of him, as though he’s been spending time outside in the sun wearin
