SNEAKING FROM BED SUNDAY morning, without disturbing Sean, took skill, but a tiptoed trip down the stairs and into the conservatory unhindered proved my covert antics successful.
Just as I’d hoped he’d be, Nathan occupied one of the chairs. He sat so immobile, I thought he was asleep. Eyes half open in a lazy, contented way, he stared toward the garden from beneath the pitter-patter of rain on the glass roof.
As I curled into the willow chair beside his, the slight flare of his nostrils told me he’d acknowledged my presence.
“You’re up early,” he said.
“So are you.”
“Yes, but I’m always up early. You, on the other hand, aren’t.”
We fell quiet for minutes. My breathing slowed, as I leaned back into my seat, and my mind filled with the hypnotic sounds of the weather. I closed my eyes,
