This time when I woke, Caspian didn’t so much as stir.
I sat up slowly, wincing a little at the ache of my body, and forced myself from the warm cocoon of the bedding. I looked down at my guest, his dark hair a lovely contrast to the white sheets, and had to fight to not press a kiss to his neck.
I’d been asked out many times at the shop, by confident older men, cocky younger ones, and everything in-between, but my attention had only ever been drawn to Caspian.
It was strange, after so many years of being alone, to feel this kind of connection to another person. It was a bittersweet thing.
I grabbed what I could from my top drawer—briefs and thick, black leggings—knowing I’d have no choice but to wake Caspian up to retrieve the rest of my clothes from the closet and wanting to let him
