The rain came before dawn, not in torrents but as a soft, endless drizzle that turned the leaves to glass and pulled the scent of soil and moss into every breath. Jude lay awake beside Grace, the steady rhythm of droplets on their thatched roof lulling him into a silence he didn't try to escape. She was curled into his chest, one leg thrown over his, warm and soft and entirely his in the darkness. Her hair smelled like honey and ash. He could have stayed like that forever, and maybe in some part of himself, he did.
When the gray light finally pushed through the clouds and into their home, it caught on the glistening curve of her shoulder. She stirred slowly, sighing, her lips brushing the hollow of his throat.
"Mmm. Is it morning?"
"Technically," he murmured, fingers stroking her back. "But the sky's not in the mood for brightness."
She smiled against his skin. "Neither am I."
He kissed her hair. "Then let's not rush."
