Chapter 20: Byron's POV

Byron's POV

I woke on Sunday at six with her head on my arm and the monitor hissing on the nightstand.

Lacey was asleep with her mouth a little open.

I lay still and looked at the ceiling beams I had patched in July, and for the first time in my life I was in no hurry to get up.

Poppy woke at seven.

Lacey fed her and put her down again for the long morning nap, and then she stood in the bedroom doorway in my flannel shirt with her hair a mess.

"Barn," she said.

"It's Sunday. Nothing's due."

"Barn, Byron."

She took my hand and walked me across the cold yard, with the monitor in her other fist.

The cider room smelled of pressed fruit and old wood.

She shut the door and put her back against it, and she looked at me for a long moment.

"You said you'd ask me what I wanted," she said.

"I did."

"I want you to sit down."

I sat on the stool by the workbench.

She walked over and pulled the flannel off over her head, and she wasn't wearing anything under it.

Morning light came in through the little window and lay across her shoulder.

"Lacey."

"Keep your hands on your knees," she said.

I kept them there.

She undid my jeans and took me out, and I had to look at the ceiling.

She was slow about it.

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