Morning came and Yara was in his shirt.
That part wasn't new.
She'd worn his shirt before, casually, and the borrowing had never counted as an event.
What was new was that she'd chosen it this morning, after a night she had chosen to spend with him, and neither of them was pretending she hadn't made those choices.
They were pretending something else. They were pretending the count had not moved.
◆◆◆◆
She was at the counter cutting bread, one slow push of the knife then another, the slowness of the whole task.
Soren watched her from the table and did not look away.
That was one of the things he'd decided in the night.
He wasn't going to look away from her while he still had eyes to look with, and if the thing under the yard wanted to take degrees from him, it could take them off a man watching his wolf make breakfast.
She knew he was watching.
