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10

SEAN

Iwake before my alarm, a lifetime habit from military training that civilian life hasn't erased. The house is quiet. Through my bedroom window, the first traces of dawn paint the sky in watercolor strokes.

I push myself out of bed, trying not to think about kissing Wren’s forehead some nights ago. About Wren breaking down in my car. About how she fit in my arms. About the unprofessional way, I crossed the line with that kiss. About how my gaze lingered on her lips.

This is my new routine since that little forehead kiss three nights ago. I wake up and the first thing I see is Wren’s face. It’s the last thing I see before my body succumbs to sleep as well. Now, I want to push it out of my mind and fill my thoughts with other things. Think of business. Of how beautiful dawn is at this time.

I yawn, making my way to the kitchen.

There, I start the coffee maker. Strong. Black. Simple. Unlike everything else in my life right now.

A miniature Superman sits on the counter. One of Eric's toys. I pick it up, turning it over in my hand, smiling despite myself. The kid’s got them everywhere.

It’s easy to notice the small things around their little family. The toy truck left in the yard, half buried in the dirt. The way her day bends around Eric’s bedtime. The glow from her bedroom window long after midnight.

Wren lives like someone waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I’m not good with kids anymore. That part of my life ended a long time ago. But Eric is easy. He likes dinosaurs and making slime and he thinks there’s a night monster under his bed but his night light keeps it away.

I smile, watching the coffee brew, the aroma filling the kitchen.

The sound of running water tells me Wren is awake. She'll come downstairs soon, hair still damp, wearing one of those silk shirts that make her look so lovely. I hope she wears that butter yellow one that makes her look like summer itself with that fitted skirt that accentuates her figure.

I brush a hand through my hair, scoffing.

“She won’t be doing that and I should stop daydreaming,” I murmur to myself.

Since that night, she's been treating me with careful professionalism. Tight smiles. Quick answers. Like she’s trying to build a wall brick by brick between us. I let her.

Her message is clear even without words:That was a mistake. Won't happen again.

Fine by me. I set boundaries for a reason.

So why do I keep replaying that moment in the car?

I hear her footsteps on the stairs. I pour myself a cup of coffee, savoring the aroma before drinking. Before turning to see her in a butter yellow silk shirt and that same skirt I fancy verymuch on her. I suck in a breath, twirling my cup, trying not to notice her cleavage.

“Good morning,” she says with a small smile before walking past me. I catch a whiff of her soft vanilla scent.

I clear my throat.

“Good morning. Care for some?”

“Yes, please.”

I pour her a cup. Black with one sugar, just how she likes it.

“You’ve been up all night, haven't you?”

“I'm fine.”

“Those dark circles under your eyes say otherwise.”

She reaches for the mug, her fingers brushing mine. A tingle of electricity rushes through my finger.

“Nothing some concealer won’t fix.”