Page 27 of The Guest Cottage
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Each of his footsteps rocked the dock, and yet Marlow didn’t move. Pausing, Cort took in her awkward posture slumped in the hard chair, and then he heard the low rough sound of her breathing, like a very feminine . . . snore.
His mouth twitched, and he couldn’t resist moving closer.
The sun would roast her in no time. Worse, she might get burned. He hated to disturb her, especially when he’d rather just look at her a bit.
Even in his own head, that thought sounded creepy, so he cleared his throat.
Nothing.
“Marlow?”
She shifted, snuggling more deeply into the chair, which seemed impossible given its hard lines, but she managed.
“Hey.” Kneeling beside her chair, resisting the urge to touch her, he said again, “Marlow?”
She briefly stirred.
“If you sleep out here, you’ll get a sunburn.”
Thick lashes fluttered, then lifted. For a moment, she squinted out at the lake with incomprehension before the spark of awareness entered her dark velvety eyes and she snapped her head around to stare at him.
“Oh, my gosh. Where did you come from?”
“I’ll assume that’s not a serious question.” Cort didn’t stand. Nope, he liked his vantage point right here beside her just fine. “You were out.”
“How long were you there?”
“Just walked up, but even though I said your name, you kept on snoring.”
“Ha!” With a luxurious stretch, she straightened herself. “Guess I was more tired than I realized.”
“Late nights at the tavern?”
“Just a few.” She ran a hand over her uncombed hair. “Ugh, I’m a mess.” Instead of dwelling on that, she smiled. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“I saw you when I first came down, but you were focused on fishing.”
Not for a second had he been unaware of her. He’d felt her stare like a physical touch. Wasn’t easy, but he’d reminded himself of her newly widowed circumstances. Pouncing on her the moment she stepped out the door might make her wary of him. He didn’t want that, so he’d waited, letting her know that she could have her space.
He hadn’t counted on her falling asleep. The plan had been to wave to her as she headed back up to the cottage, then decide his next move based on how that went. If she was receptive, he’d have joined her. If she’d merely waved, he wouldn’t have intruded.
Now here he was, smiling at her while she smiled at him, and it didn’t feel awkward or intrusive at all.
It felt right.
His gaze went over her face, then her hair. Here in the bright morning sunshine, flaws would have been noticeable—only they weren’t, not on her. Oh, her face had character, for sure. A small worry line here, a smile line there, a lonely freckle or two.
What he really saw was the flush on her cheeks, the shine in her untidy hair, the depth in her eyes. “Not a mess,” he said, belatedly correcting her. “Sloppy looks good on you.”
With a quick grin, she reached for her coffee mug, tipped it up, and got only a drip. “I need caffeine if I’m expected to accept false compliments with grace.”
Wasn’t false, but he wouldn’t belabor the point. Cocking one brow, he said, “I have coffee in my thermos.”
She countered with, “I have cookies in my kitchen.”
