Brady kissed me. Sweet and comforting, a brush of the lips as he passed me my coffee.
"Good morning beautiful." Sleep laced in his words, he threw me a crooked grin and wiped his eye. God, I loved the way he sounded.
Since last night he had donned a thin t-shirt in true Brady style. He went to the window, parting the blinds with two fingers and watched.
"How's it look?" I asked. I ran a finger along the mug's lip, the smell was enough for now.
"Another hot one. Not a single cloud." He drew back and tilted his head to look at me. At the disheveled woman he thought was beautiful.
I had been worried, twisted myself up in my sheets with damn worry last night. What if it was a dream? What if again we brushed off what happened? What if I woke up and he was gone? Or worse, calling me a frien
