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“Of course I didn’t. I have the common decency to be terrifyingly obnoxious to your face on a daily basis.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Exactly.”
“So, can you get me the skinny on Officer Contreras before my meeting with him at noon tomorrow so I’ll know if I should wear my good bra?”
“You’re impossible.”
“But you love me.”
“Yes, I do.”
I slept soundly that night other than one deliciously naughty dream that I could only recall in snippets. Something about Justin and a big soaker tub full of bubbling champagne and rose petals, and funny enough, Taylor Dayne singing in the background. I woke up with “I’ll Always Love You” on a loop in my brain. It was all stupidly romantic, and well, stupid.
I rolled my head to glance at the clock. It was only a little after six on a Sunday morning. I got out of bed and threw on some clothes, then made my way to the kitchen to start some coffee. While it brewed, I sent my mom a text, knowing she was an early riser.
Me: Good morning! You taking the girls to church today?
Mom: We were planning to.
Me: I think I’ll meet you there, then take Lizzie after service straight to the hospital to visit Cam, Vanessa, and the baby.
Mom: Sounds perfect. We’ll be going to see them this evening. See you soon!
In less than ten minutes, Justin padded into the kitchen, his black hair tousled, his jaw dotted with stubble. But what stopped me in my tracks was how disarming it was to see him relaxed and barefoot in a simple white t-shirt and flannel pajama pants, yawning like this was home. “Thanks,” he said as he accepted the mug of coffee I offered him. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” I spun so I wouldn’t gawk and pulled out a package of English muffins. “I was going to head to the eight o’clock service at church this morning with my family and pick up Lizzie there, then go see my brother at the hospital. You’re free to do whatever you want while I’m gone. I should be back...” I turned to grab the butter and paused at his glower. “What?”
“I’m free?” he shot back.
“Um, yes?” I frowned. “I didn’t want to impose.”
“Impose,” he echoed.
“It’s church, Justin. I’ll be fine.”
He crossed his arms, that glower deepening. “Can we clarify something here?”
“Sure.”
He shot up an index finger. “First of all, I am the one who decides what’s a safety risk right now and what precautions need to be taken.” He added another finger. “Second, regardless of any personal lines we may have danced with, you and Elizabeth are not an imposition.” He spat the word like it was an insult. “I am here to protect you, and I am certainly not free to do whatever I want until any and all threats against you are eliminated permanently.”
I swallowed against my suddenly dry throat.
“Are we clear?”
“Perfectly.”
“Great.”
“So . . . you’re going to church with me?”
“Looks like it.” He sipped his coffee again. “I’ll just reschedule the install of your car’s security system for later today when we get back from the hospital.”
“Oh. Okay.” I turned back to preparing breakfast. “Thank you.”
“Yup.” He drained the rest of his coffee, then rinsed his mug and put it in the dishwasher. “I’ll just go get shaved and put on my Sunday best.”
Okay, so the man was disarming with his just-woke-up look, definitely delicious in the all-black getup he had on the day we met, but what he called “Sunday best”? Flat-out dangerous. To my heart.