14
The next morning could have been awkward, but somehow wasn’t. Autumn awakened, her head still pillowed on Michael’s shoulder, and felt him move against her. They kissed…and kissed again…and then suddenly she was on top of him, their bodies joined once more, as if they both needed to reaffirm that what had happened the night before hadn’t been a fluke born of too much wine and candlelight.
Afterward, they got up and went into the kitchen, and he made her coffee and bacon and scrambled eggs.
“I thought you said you couldn’t cook,” Autumn said, managing to make her voice only slightly accusing.
He had the good sense to grin. “Oh, well…breakfast,” he said in self-deprecating tones. “I don’t count that as the same thing as making a real dinner like we had last night. But I’m glad you lik
