The last thing I remember in the truck is leaning against Leo in the car and listening to Jax and River argue about whether a hot dog counted as a sandwich. I vaguely remember contributing something deeply intelligent about hot dogs being a state of mind before sleep dragged me under.
When I surface again, everything's warm. Strong arms are carrying me. The familiar scent of cedar and expensive aftershave surrounds me. My cheek is pressed against a broad chest rising and falling beneath my ear. For several blissful seconds I don't bother opening my eyes. I simply burrow closer, chasing comfort the way a cat chases sunlight.
Somewhere nearby, somebody chuckles. Another hand brushes through my hair. Lips touch the top of my head. Then another kiss follows from a different direction, and
