“Marlowe will be fine. He’s probably sound asleep on his bed right now. As long as I get back in time for his breakfast, he won’t care.”
“I’d say you could bring him with you, but that might get a little complicated.”
Ken snorted. “The only way I could bring him with me is if you didn’t mind a fifty-pound dog sleeping under the covers between us.”
“He does not sleep under the covers!”
“If I let him on the bed, he does. That’s why he’s had to learn to sleep on his dog bed.”
“Poor Marlowe.”
“Poor Marlowe?” He was grinning at her now, his eyes warm and affectionate. “It should be poor Ken. Do you have any idea what it’s like when a dog as big as him insists on sleeping under the covers?”
“Well, he sees you sleep that way, so he thinks that’s the proper way to sleep. He’s a very smart, observant fellow.”
“Uh-huh.”
She reached over to smooth down his hair since it was so dramatically kinked, but it sprang right back to where it had been.
“Something wrong with it?” Ken asked.
“You got too sweaty last night. Now it’s sticking up on end.”
“I did get pretty sweaty, didn’t I?” The texture in his voice was delicious, as if he were remembering something really good.
“Yes, you did. You exerted great effort, and it was definitely appreciated.”
“Hey, you exerted pretty good effort yourself.” He rolled over onto his back and pulled her on top of him, pulling her down into a brief kiss. “And I appreciated that just as much.”
She smiled down at him, feeling soft and warm and a little jittery. “You’re not thinking of a repeat performance this morning, are you? Because honestly...”
He laughed low in his throat. “Afraid there won’t be much performing from me at the moment. I need some recovery time after last night.”
“Good. Me too.” She kissed him again. It was supposed to be short and sweet—the way he’d kissed her—but he held her head down and deepened the kiss. His body was big and hot and hard with the texture of his skin and his body hair and the angles of his shape. She was lying on top of him, her legs splayed out on either side of his thighs, and she was acutely conscious of the form of him. Hard where she was soft.
When her heart started to flutter, she pulled out of the kiss and instead rested her head near his shoulder. He stroked up and down her back, bottom, and thighs. Slow and gentle. Undemanding.
“So the trip was good?” she asked after a few minutes. He’d texted her a few times a day—just checking in and giving her updates on what he and his daughters were doing—but they hadn’t really talked since he’d left town.
“Yeah. We had a good time. The girls really enjoyed it. You should see them in the mobcaps and aprons I bought them.”
“I bet they’re adorable.”
“They are. Heather got a set of books she’s excited about. She’s turning into a real reader.”
“That’s great.”
“You and her would probably have a lot to talk about.”
She would have felt squirmy at that comment, but his tone was so relaxed and casual it was impossible to read any pressure into it. He wasn’t trying to get her to bond with his daughters. He was just making an idle comment. “Probably so. Jessie doesn’t like to read?”
“Not as much. But she’s two years younger, so she might start to like it more later on.”
“What does she like to do?”
“Mostly play with dolls.”
“I always liked to play with dolls too. I used to make up elaborate stories and have my dolls act it out.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I spent hours doing that.”
“What stories did you have them act out?” He sounded genuinely interested.
“All kinds. Usually they were inspired by books I’d read or movies I’d watched. My dolls would go on all kinds of adventures. And sometimes they’d go to fancy boarding schools. And sometimes they’d get makeovers.”
Ken’s body shook with his amusement. “Sounds like it would have been quite an exciting playtime for you and your dolls.”
“It definitely was.”
“Do you ever write stories now?”
Madeline lifted her head to check his face. His expression was mild. Still relaxed. “Yeah.”
“Have you written a book?”
“I’ve been playing around with one for the past couple of years. I’ve been too busy to spend as much time on it as I’d like, and it’s sometimes hard to get motivation.”
“Why is it hard to get motivation?”
“Because it’s a ton of work. And when it’s done, it probably won’t go anywhere.”
“Why not? Wouldn’t you try to get it published?”
“Of course I would. But I’m probably not that good.”
“Sure you are.” He was frowning up at her now. “Any book you wrote would be great. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know.” Her cheeks were warming, and she was wishing she’d never started this conversation.
“You write all those poems for the flower shop. They’re hugely popular. You’re a fantastic writer. You know you are.”
“I’m good at the poems, but those are different than a book. They’re... they’re fun. They’re not... serious.”
“Writing fun can’t be easy, and you’re good at that. You’ll be good at anything you want to do. If you want to write a book, you should do it.” He stroked her hair back since it was falling forward over her shoulder. “I’d read it.”
She gave him a wobbly smile. She didn’t know why she was suddenly emotional. “Thank you. You might be the only one, but thank you.”
“You’ve got a bunch of friends who would read it too. And I bet there are a ton of other people who would love it. I know it’s a lot of work, but if it’s something you want, you shouldn’t be afraid to do it.”
She nodded and rested her head on his chest
