The city was still stretching itself awake when I padded out of the bedroom, barefoot, wearing one of Shane’s button-up shirts that drowned my frame but did nothing to hide the fact I was naked underneath.

The air smelled like expensive coffee and something darker—his cologne, clinging to the fabric, clinging to me.

Shane stood by the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled to the elbows, coffee mug in one hand and his phone in the other.

The first rays of sunlight spilled over him, gilding the ...