Copyright © 2007 Emily Ryan-Davis
All rights reserved, Freya's Bower.
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"I didn't think you'd be a mystical faith kind of man," she said.
"What kind did you think me?"
"I don't know. A flirt, mostly. Shallow."
"You have only known me a short time."
Mere days. "Not long at all."
David stretched and sat up. "No, not long. Not long left in the night, either. I will go to bed. Do you need anything before I go?"
"No. Thank you, though."
"Very well. Sweet dreams," he said.
Sophie smiled at the blessing. "You too."
His footsteps receded up the stairs. Sophie listened to the fire crackle and the floor creak while David readied himself for bed. She shifted off the chair and crossed to stretch out on the sofa, drawing the wool blanket up around her shoulders and cushioning her head on a throw pillow. Retiring to her room would have been a waste of a wonderful fire.
David lingered in the forefront of her thoughts. She'd spent the last several days refusing to let herself wonder about him. Her resolve had weakened during their quiet conversation. The lazy heat from the hearth granted unspoken permission to daydream; it didn't try to remind her that he was European, and she American, that curiosity was foolish, or that she was bordering on "big as a house" and carrying someone else's baggage. The crackle of kindling instead whispered suggestive questions, and she found herself wondering how German men made love.