Page 151 of Callan

The food is amazing, and I sample everything. Frittata, mushrooms and gruyere casserole, layered cheese biscuits, French toast, cranberry walnut bread, and cinnamon rolls.

I drink coffee from a mug while he sips his from an expresso cup.

“You didn’t tell me how you slept,” he says quietly, his voice vibrating low inside his chest.

He wears a bathrobe like me.

The only difference is that his robe fits his frame.

My sleeves are rolled up, so I don’t dip them in the sugar icing that glazes the cinnamon rolls.

Finally, I enjoy that nice sensation of fullness.

“I slept all right,” I say, blushing under his eyes, mine hovering over my last bite of frittata.

I sink my fork in it and bring it to my mouth. I just finished a cinnamon roll, and now I’m eating savory food again.

It’s all good.

I take another drink of coffee, still grappling with heat in my cheeks.

“How about you?” I ask.

I lift my gaze and meet his eyes. They hug me and hold me and kiss me at the same time.

“It was quite an experience,” he says, a kernel of humor in his voice.

I place my coffee down with concern in my gesture.

“Please don’t tell me I was snoring.”

He studies me, amused.

I hope it wasn’t something worse than that, like having spit at the corner of my mouth.

When was the last time I slept with someone like that?

Was it Quinn?

No. Not really.

We slept in separate rooms. And I loved it.

We couldn’t fall asleep together, and after trying it for a couple of nights, we gave up on the idea.

He blamed it on being tired at work the next day, and frankly, I felt the same.

I was struggling with it as well.

“Was I?”

He says nothing.

My shoulders collapse as I look at him, begging him to save me from the harsh grip of embarrassment.

“You did snore. Just a little,” he says. “But it was the cutest sound a human could make. You sounded like a kitten.”

“A kitten?”

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