*Oliver*
I awake to a summer blue sky. Not outside. But here in my bed. Resting on her side, one hand beneath her cheek, a contented look on her face, Seraphine is watching me. My hand is curled over her hip, the shirt providing a barrier between our skin. I suppose even in sleep, I recognize that she isn’t mine to take liberties with.
“Did you sleep all right?” I ask.
Her smile is soft, not one broad enough to give me permission to kiss her as I want. “Mmm. I woke up well rested.”
Her slender fingers feather along my throat, slip beneath the chain around my neck, and skitter down until she is holding the silver medallion my chest has warmed. “Why do you wear this?”
“My mother gave it to me. The image etched on it is of St. Christopher. Patron saint of travelers. She thought it would
