Chapter 11Kit awoke to the twittering cries of birds at the first brightening of day. Overhead, the sky changed in slow degrees from gray to pale bronze to softest blue. Dew moistened the outer shell of the sleeping bag, but inside, she remained snug and warm, securely wedged against Bret’s body.
I’d like to wake up like this every morning. The thought caught her by surprise. But that would mean—No, she hadn’t meant that at all! This had been nice—no, make that magical and lovely—and it would make a pleasant memory, but it wasn’t forever.
She told herself how impractical sleeping outdoors would be in the winter, how cold it would have been just a few weeks earlier. She told herself bird songs were only a stand-in for the classical music station she had tuned on her clock radio. She told
