I WAKE LIKE I’VE JUST BEEN JOLTED BACK TO LIFE—HARD, fast, and alert all at once. A strip of bright light slices across the room from the split in the blackout curtains as I check my watch—it’s 10 a.m. A time I never sleep to.

I must have needed it. A hard reset.

Beside me, the sheets are rumpled—proof that Gwen did, in fact, spend the night in my bed.

It was something I needed. Something I always wanted when I came back from a job. And she didn’t hesitate.

The intimacy of last night satisfied a craving I didn’t even know I had. Gwen had known what I needed without me having to explain it to her. Then she’d told me more about herself than ever before.

I understand her better now.

More than that, I feel attached.

I don’t want any awkward tension between us. I want the gentleness of last night. And when my feet hit the floor, I tell myself that today is a new day. If I want things to be like that between us, I can do my part to keep them that way.

A new day where I can try being nicer.

No—kinder.

Ever since that conversation, the distinction has stuck with me. I don’t know if I can force myself to have a nicer, more palatable personality, but I can always be kind.

In the bathroom, I brush my teeth and study my reflection. I look tired, but not as worn down as yesterday. I feel a bit blue but not depressed and cynical like yesterday.

It makes me wonder if she was onto something when she asked about my mental and emotional well-being. Truth is, I’ve ignored both lately.

The prospect of facing Gwen this morning has me unsettled. Without my surliness to hide behind, I feel vulnerable. Soft, sensitive, and easily wounded.

It’s also harder to convince myself I don’t want her when I’m feeling this exposed. Propping my hands on the counter, I stare back at myself in the mirror.

I can be safe and kind.

I can be mature and kind.

I can be kind to Gwen without fucking her.

Of course I can. I’m a grown man. I’m a highly skilled pilot. I kick ass under pressure. I’ll even apologize for my past behavior, really own my shit.

“I can do this,” I mutter as I rinse off my toothbrush and turn to head downstairs.

When I get there, it’s quiet. I expected to hear chatter or laughter like I do most mornings since Clyde and Gwen came here and took over my life. It’s inexplicable how well they get along. Thick as thieves, the two of them. And it’s been nice to watch. Especially knowing what I do now.

He appreciates her and respects her expertise. Sees value in all the things about her that her own dad shamed her for.

And she’s the same with him. Clyde gets lonely, whether he wants to admit it or not. Many people can’t handle his shit, but with Gwen, he can be the most unhinged version of himself, and she just smiles, letting him ramble on.

I have to confess—I could learn a thing or two from Gwen.

Like how to let things go. How to get over perceived wrongs that I carry with me. Missed opportunities that keep me up at night.

She said I was repressed, and she wasn’t wrong. I just don’t know how to stop.

Following the smell of freshly brewed coffee, I head into the kitchen, where I expect to be alone. Except Gwen is standing with her back to me, hair tossed up in a messy bun, a mug clasped between her hands. The golden light illuminates her.

It makes me wish we could have woken up together. Left the curtains open, so I could lie in bed and watch the morning sun dance across her upturned nose, watch its rays highlight the tops of her full cheeks.

She’d be warm and soft, and she’d smell like lavender. I’d pull her closer and stare at her for so long that when I closed my eyes, the shape of her would be burned on the back of my lids.

The possibility of it hits me hard in the chest. I’m past pretending I don’t want this, at least—someone to wake up with. To share a coffee with. To enjoy the view with.

It’s not even the sex I miss. It’s companionship. The comfort of knowing that if I’m sick, someone will be there to help. That when I get home from working a brutal wildfire, I won’t have to sit with it alone. That at the end of the day, I’ll have someone to hold for the night, letting my breathing fall in time with theirs.

It’s the simple things.

It’s building a life with someone.

I’d settle for just that.

But it can’t be just someone. I think deep down I want it to be the one. I’ve been hurt too badly for it not to be.

And when I think of the one, I think of her.

Biting down on my cheek, I head toward the coffeepot and pour myself a mug. If Gwen notices my presence, she doesn’t show it. She stays facing the sprawling back deck—practically another room added to the house if you were to open the sliding doors.

“Good morning,” I finally muster, needing to break the silence. I can’t have her feeling like she can’t even speak.

Seen but not heard, she’d said when referring to her dad. That sentiment had rankled me. Now it infuriates me.

She peeks over her shoulder, those unusual eyes landing on me. The soft sage green of her sweatshirt and matching leggings does nothing but amplify the purple tinge in her irises.

Lavender. Lilacs. The color of the sun when it rises over heavy wildfire smoke.

“It is… some kind of morning.” Her smooth voice is like a balm, and the light curve of her mouth holds not a single shred of awkwardness.

My head tilts as she looks back out the window with a light giggle. Coffee in hand, I cross the expansive kitchen. I pass dark-green cabinetry, with gold hardware and stained wood countertops, as I follow the pull toward Gwen.

Her curves are on full display. I itch to touch her. But that thought comes to an abrupt and screeching halt when I catch sight of what she’s looking at.

Because it’s not the lake.

It’s Clyde. On the deck. Naked.

My jaw unhinges as I come to stand next to her, chin dropping in shock. He’s seated facing away from us, legs spread and in the air, with his arms hooked behind his knees.

“What the fuck is he doing?”

Gwen looks up at me, amusement dancing on her face. “Oh, that?” she replies with a little smirk. “He’s, uh… sunning his perineum.”

Confused as hell, I glance back at the man. He’s scrawny and wiry looking, all lean muscles and sun-worn skin. I know he spends a huge amount of time outside to keep his home on the other side of the mountain running. Chopping wood, growing herbs and vegetables, reinforcing his roof, and building his zombie shelter or whatever the hell it’s supposed to be for.

Truthfully, if there ever is an apocalypse, Clyde would be the friend to have.

But this? This is too much.

“Sunning his perineum?”

Gwen snorts a laugh, her shoulders shaking with the effort of restraining herself. “That’s what he called it. In my head, I’ve been calling it tanning his taint.”

I can’t help it. I chuckle. Gwen’s eyes widen in surprise. Her gaze lingers on my mouth before sliding back toward the tall windows. And a very naked Clyde.

“Is this a yoga thing?” I ask seriously before taking a sip of my coffee. I was bad enough last night. If this is a thing, then I can be respectful about it. Or at least pretend to be.

“Mm-hmm. Taint tanning is all the rage these days. You’ll have to try it.”

I keep my expression neutral because I don’t want Gwen to think I don’t respect her expertise. But the tone of my voice gives me away as I ask, “Really?” with some level of disgust.

“No. Not really,” she says with a blinding smile.

“So, he’s just…” I don’t even know what to ask.

“Trying out things he read about on the internet? Yes. Indeed, he is.”

“But where is this a thing? And why?”

“He sent me a blog post about it. You know, all the best medical professionals hang out on WordPress.”

Of course he did.

“According to the article”—she holds one hand up to make air quotes—“it has ‘a whole host of benefits. It helps with longevity, vitamin D levels, circulation, and libido.’” She waggles her eyebrows as she says libido, and I’m struck dumb.

“He just had a kidney transplant. Why is he worried about his libido?”

She shrugs. “New lease on life, maybe? He’s old, not dead. His sacral chakra is flowing. It’s pretty normal for him to be thinking about sex. God knows he spends enough time on that doomsday-preppers dating site.”

I cringe and take a deep swig of my black coffee, hoping to cleanse my mind of any imagery that combines Clyde and sex.

“Does he know you can get vitamin D at the store?”

“Yeah, but, Bash”—Gwen drops her voice into the perfect imitation of Clyde—“that shit is synthetic and nothing like the real thing.”

“Good god, that does sound like something he’d say.” I shake my head, eyes fixed on this man whom I’ve essentially adopted. Who currently has his ass spread in a sunbeam on my deck. “Is it safe?”

She shrugs, hands cupped around her coffee as she takes a thoughtful sip. “Some of his medications are supposed to cause sun sensitivity. But the sun is still mild right now, so I gave him five minutes and told him I’m timing him. I don’t think he’s hurting anything except our eyes. And maybe if he starts now, he can build up to doing it in the summer. Like a base tan, ya know? Avoid burning.”

“I hate this conversation so much” is all I can think to say, and it makes Gwen laugh. Throaty, velvety laughter that never fails to be a shot straight to my dick.

But it’s so much more than that. It’s the realization that she’s everything I want.