Page 34 of Shades of Grey & Gold

Too many men have shown up on my doorstep with coffee this week, but I do prefer this one.

“What are you doing here?”

I realize quickly that I could have saidhello, or something equally warm and welcoming. But I’m in fuzzy socks and he looks like that, so really, everyone should lower their expectations.

His eyes flick down, not in a gross way, but in a slow way as he takes in my outfit and decides this is the opposite of a deterrent from whatever he came here to do.

“I knew you’d be up.”

“Congratulations on remembering my deeply uncool personality trait of being up too early.”

“Oh, I remember a lot more than that, but I’m choosing to use this one to my advantage this morning,” he winks and lifts the coffee. “Ridiculously offensive to order this, since it’s more sugar than coffee; truly offensive to coffee as an institution.”

I take it from him and sip. “Correct coffee order, incorrect commentary.”

His smile widens, and for a second, I forget about the coffee and the fuzzy socks, and the way Bart has been sitting between us staring up at Cal like he hung the moon. Because it’s not fair that a face can do that—do that gorgeous thing with his lips and eyes and—

“I was going to text,” he interrupts my irresponsible thoughts.

“But?”

“But then I thought about you opening your phone, reading it, trying to decide how to respond, overthinking it, possibly asking your friend what to say, then maybe convincing yourself I didn’t really want to come see you.”

My mouth opens.

Closes.

That is rude.

Accurate. But rude.

“Wow,” I say under my breath, but loud enough for him to hear. “Bold of you to show up at my house at seven in the morning and immediately read me for filth.”

He leans against the door frame, hand going down to absentmindedly pet Bart. “So I just came instead.”

“Why?”

The question comes out softer than I mean it to and his smile shifts. It doesn’t disappear but it’s quieter, warmer. His eyes hold mine in the morning light and my fingers tighten around the cup.

“Because I woke up and all I could think about was that if I didn’t come see you, I wouldn’t see you today. And that was unacceptable.”

Oh.

A shiver moves up my back before I can stop it, delicate and traitorous and totally his fault. His eyes drop to my shoulders like he notices. Because of course he does. Callan Reed notices everything. It’s one of his most annoying qualities, right after the face and the forearms with the painted lines twirling around them and right before the thing where he says exactly the right thing at all times.

“You could have texted that,” my survival instinct forces me to say.

“I could have.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.”

I sip the coffee just to have something to do with my mouth.

Bart stands up and wiggles himself closer to Cal, leaning his body against Cal’s legs.

“Bartholomew, you traitor,” I say in mock anger.