I turned within the circle of his arms, gazing at his unconscious face. His mouth hung slightly open, and a cowlick stuck up from the crown of his head. He looked younger. Unguarded.
Vulnerable.
I lightly traced the center of his chest between muscular pecs. He stirred but didn't wake, muscles tensing momentarily before relaxing back into sleep.
When his eyes finally opened, there was no confusion or alarm. Only immediate recognition, as if waking up beside me was already routine.
He greeted me. "Morning." He didn't move away, reach for his phone, or do anything that would signal the distraction of outside concerns. He watched my face with patient attention.
"You sleep like someone who's never been hunted."
"And you sleep like someone who's never been safe." He reached up, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. "How's it feel? Being safe."
I wasn't quite ready to accept all of the implications.
Safe meant permanent. It implied staying and required building something instead of constantly preparing to run.
"Ask me tomorrow." I leaned over and kissed him.
He smiled against my mouth. "Deal. Coffee?"
I nodded, and he rolled out of bed, reaching for his jeans. I watched him dress, marveling at how he occupied his space without constantly checking sightlines.
Trust.
Another dangerous concept I'd need to learn.
Matthew padded barefoot to the tiny kitchen and filled the ancient percolator with water that ran rust-colored for three seconds before clearing. He hummed something under his breath—a melody I couldn't quite remember.
After following him, I leaned against the counter and watched his hands work. Those same fingers measuring coffee grounds had sutured my wounds.
"Look at us," I said, with a crooked smile. "Pretending to play house in the woods while armed mercenaries hunt for my location."
Matthew glanced up, one eyebrow raised. "It's not pretend unless you want it to be."
I studied his profile. He meant it. All of it.
His phone buzzed against the wooden countertop. Wiping his hands on a dish towel, he checked the display.
"Ma." Matthew answered the call. "Hey, what's up?"
I couldn't decipher the words, but her voice was there—rapid-fire questions. Her son's responses were patient.
"No, I'm fine. Just taking some time away." Pause. "I know, I know. I should have called earlier." He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. "About dinner today..."
The percolator bubbled vigorously in the background.
"Actually, Ma, I need to tell you something." He looked at me while speaking. "You're always asking if I'm bringing someone to dinner."
My stomach clenched. I shook my head, but Matthew wasn't looking at me anymore.
"Well, this time the answer's yes. His name is Dorian."
Silence reigned briefly on both ends of the call. Then, the rapid-fire interrogation continued.
"Ma, slow down." He laughed. "We'll be there by four. Yes, I know you need time to set another place." He glanced at me. "No, don't make anything special. He's not... we're still figuring things out."
His name is Dorian.Present tense. Not a cover identity or operational alias. Just me, whatever that meant anymore.
