Morning light filters through the RV's small windows, casting everything in soft gold.
Festival day two. The thought should make me excited. Another day of sales, of meeting new people, of doing what I love. Instead, all I can think about is the way Felix's hand tightens reflexively at my hip when I shift, like even in sleep he doesn't want to let me go.
"Morning," he mumbles against my shoulder, voice gravelly with sleep and rough enough to make me shiver.
"Hey there." I turn in his arms, studying his face. "Sleep okay?"
He nods, eyes still half-closed. "Better than I have in years."
"The RV bed's not too small?"
"Perfect size." His hand slides down to rest at the small of my back. "Forces you to stay close."
I laugh softly. "Is that your way of saying you're a cuddler, Felix Dixon?"
"I'm saying I like waking up with you here by my side."
The simple honesty in his voice makes my chest tight with something that feels dangerously close to hope.
Pickles chooses that moment to wake up with a dramatic yawn and stretch, reminding us both that we have an audience. He pads over to the door and looks back at us expectantly.
"Duty calls," I say, but I don't move to get up.
"Let him wait."
"He'll start whining. And then he'll progress to passive-aggressive door scratching. Trust me, you don't want to experience Pickles' morning routine in a confined space."
Felix groans but releases me, watching as I slip into a robe and take the dog out. Pickles does his business quickly, eager to return to the RV for breakfast. When we come back inside, Felix is sitting up against the small headboard, sheet pooled around his waist, looking like sin personified.
Pickles barks, reminding me that I can’t throw myself on top of the sexy mountain man in my bed right now. There are things that need doing.
"Coffee?" I ask Felix as I scoop a cup of kibble into Pickles’ dish.
"Yes, please.”
I move around the small kitchen, hyperaware of his eyes on me as I grind coffee beans. It's intimate in a way that surprises me, this quiet domestic moment. Like we've been doing this for months instead of hours.
"So," I say, leaning against the counter while we wait for the coffee to brew. "What's the plan for today?"
"Sell furniture. Avoid Joy's commentary on my love life. Try not to think about how good your curves look in that robe… and how jealous I am of everyone who saw you walking Pickles in it this morning.”
I glance down at my ratty terry cloth robe with the coffee stain on the sleeve. "This old thing?"
"That old thing."
"Well, you're going to have to get used to it. I was thinking..." I pause, suddenly nervous. "I was thinking maybe I stick around a little longer. After the festival, I mean. I've got pieces in the general store already, and Joy mentioned there might be space for a permanent artist booth."
Felix goes very still. "How much longer?"
"That depends." I pour coffee into two mugs, adding cream to mine. "How do you feel about having a neighbor who talks too much and has a dog with boundary issues?"
He's quiet for so long that I start to worry I've misread everything. That last night was just physical for him, that I'm pushing too fast, that—
"Harper."
"Yeah?"
"I don't want this to be a one-night stand."
