When will this end?, you may well be asking (I am). Hopefully in a chapter or two…
Chapter Thirteen: Ache
Jane's eyes opened to chaos and darkness.
He realized quickly that the darkness was due to a pile of blankets covering his face. The chaos was due to a cursing, grumpy Lisbon sprawled apparently half on top of him and half on the floor next to him.
"What the hell, Jane?"
He reached up and pulled the blankets off his face. Sunlight filtered through the room and he blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust. "Lisbon? You okay?"
Her face was suddenly above him, scowling. "No thanks to you. Why the hell are you on the floor next to my bed?"
Her hair was rumpled and the jersey she wore had slid down off one shoulder. She reached up and rubbed the side of her head, creating more disarray among her dark locks.
She looked adorable.
He focused on her hand massaging her scalp. "Did you hurt yourself when you fell?"
She positively growled. "You mean, when I tripped over your body and thus you made me fall?"
She couldn't have hurt herself much if she was still so grumpy. She needed her morning coffee.
The familiarity of her grouchy morning personality made happiness bubble inside. It spilled out of him in the form of a broad grin. "Yes, I suppose I do mean that."
She huffed. "Why do you look so happy about it?"
She eyed him suspiciously and, impossibly, his smile grew. "Well, admittedly, I'm not so happy that you fell, but I am extremely happy to see your face this morning, my dear."
Her bad-tempered scowl faded into uncomfortable fidgeting. "Yes, well, it's past time we were up."
She stood, her haste at trying to escape the warm affection on his face causing her to forget that she was clad only in her jersey, lots of skin peeking out from its hem. He eyed her legs appreciatively. When she noticed where his gaze was fixed, she blushed hotly and snatched up her blankets, holding them protectively in front of her.
The large pile of blankets—which she must have dragged off the bed after her feet got tangled in him—made her look unbelievably small, like a little girl dragging blankets down the hall to her parents' room after a nightmare.
Again: adorable.
Not that he would admit that to her (yet).
"I'm going to shower, Jane," she stated formally, an attempt to regain some sort of dignity and distance. "You will be downstairs when I come out."
After those words, spoken with an ominous promise (threat), she swept into the master bath, leaving him stretched on the floor of her bedroom staring after her. He folded his hands behind his head.
There was a lot to figure out, but after only one night in her presence he was feeling more whole than he had in weeks.
As if his shattered self had somehow been pieced together and was slowly being stitched up.
He felt so happy at that moment that he ached.