It is a while before Lyra returns to the kitchen.
She walks in, and I immediately pause.
There are two reasons for this.
First, we are alone for the first time since she tilted her chin towards me in the doorway and decided to use my first name in the most intimate way possible.
Second, she is wearing my clothes.
My clothes.
The borrowed joggers sit loose at her waist, the sweatshirt swallowing the line of her shoulders, and somehow the sight is far more devastating than it has any right to be. Clearly, the Goddess felt the weekend could get marginally more interesting.
My mouth goes dry, and I become horribly aware it has dropped open just enough to be noticeable.
And of course, she notices.
"Landry," she says, with a tinge of awkwardness.
"Grey."
Her fingers curl into the slee
