She woke up alone.
With her heart suddenly pounding, Lydia rolled over and blinked as the shape by the fireplace solidified, coming into focus as she dispelled the last vestiges of sleep. Her moment of alarm fled as swiftly as it had struck. Del wasn’t gone again. He sat in one of the chairs, head bowed, forearms resting against his knees as he stared into the fire with his long hair hanging over his face, obscuring his features from view.
“Morning,” she murmured.
His shoulders tensed at the soft sound of her voice, but otherwise, he didn’t move. “Are you cold?” His tone was oddly neutral. “I’m afraid the fire died in the night. I should have watched it more carefully.”
Lydia frowned and sat up. The shirt she wore fell open, the buttons still undone from Del’s attention the night befor
