The first thing Molly registered was warmth.
Not just the scratchy throw blanket that had slipped halfway off her shoulder sometime in the night—but the steady, unyielding heat of a body beneath her cheek. The slow, rhythmic rise and fall of a chest. The faint thud of a heartbeat she could feel more than hear.
An arm was looped around her waist, loose but secure, the kind of hold that could’ve easily tightened if she tried to move.
Her lashes fluttered, adjusting to the muted gold of early morning that seeped through the curtains. The light was soft, the room still.
Jack.
Her breath caught—shallow, involuntary.
She hadn’t meant to fall asleep here. She remembered Scarlett’s fever breaking sometime late, Jack crouched beside her, murmuring in that calm, low voice as he helped with Sca
