Sunshine In The Morning (Spring-Summer Romance Book 1) Read Online Free

swinging the cabinet door open. Tugging the glass holder free, she fitted the candle into it and shifted it to the center island.
    Lightning flashed again, and the rain slashed harder.
    “I can’t let you go out in this,” he said. “Looks like you’re stuck.” Why was he relieved by that? And did he imagine it, or was she pleased as well?
    “I guess so,” she replied evenly. “You might have to put me up on the couch.”
    “I’ll do you one better. There’s a twin bed in the spare room. I promise to not say a word to anyone about you staying.”
    The flickering light of the candle fluttered, seductive, on her face. “You didn’t create the rain,” she said, “and there’ll be sunshine in the morning.”
    A positive outlook that lightened the mood, despite the noise echoing around them.
     

     
    The scent of bacon awakened her from a troubled sleep, and the demons that’d plagued her in the nighttime vanished in the light of day. A fresh wash of sunshine pressed through the dusty window glass, leaving an uneven square on the carpet.
    Lying there, listening to the noises from the kitchen, Lydia wondered how she’d ended up here. The rain? Could she blame it on the weather? It’d not been that severe since she’d moved to Florida. But surely, she could have managed to escape somehow. She might have been wet, but she wouldn’t have to explain to her roommate where she was all night or look Mr. Kai in the eyes during his next class, knowing where she’d been.
    Her stomach growled. One hand mashed over it, she kicked the bed covers away and pushed to her feet. A glance in the mirror hanging over the dresser confirmed she needed a shower and a change of clothes. But those would have to come later because first she must get past the ball of nerves rolling around in her gut.
    Turning the knob, she exited and angled across the hall to the restroom, then shuffled toward the kitchen. Aarin’s tall, masculine form blocked the light from the kitchen window, giving him an unearthly glow. The spatula in his hand made him look triumphant.
    She laughed once at the image, the sound drawing his gaze.
    “You’re up,” he said. “I figured since I have a guest I should make something more substantial than a toaster pastry.”
    “You mean you don’t start your day with a glass of raw eggs?”
    He made a face. “Never. Back when I could work out more, I’d drink protein shakes. Some of them weren’t too bad, but I admit, the hand makes me lazy.”
    “You don’t look flabby to me,” she replied, unthinking.
    His gaze grew deep. “I do what I can.”
    Looking away, Lydia stepped forward and took a seat on a bar stool. “I used to jog,” she said, willing the awkward moment to pass. “Hard to do that and juggle classes. Philosophy is going to kill me, I think, for all the same reasons you dislike those analogies … too much thought.”
    He returned to the stove, his back to her, and the need to fill in the space between them lifted somewhat. Fitting the spatula beneath a pancake, he flipped it over, his weight slanted on one hip. He’d dressed partially, in tan slacks and a button up, but the tail untucked, his feet bare, had a bit left to do before he’d look like a professor.
    “How’d you end up teaching here?” she asked.
    He glanced behind. “Well, hockey fell through, so I leaned on my love of books to pay the bills. Have a degree in literature from Florida State and thought I ought to use it.”
    “Does it feel odd being so young?”
    He looked away, sliding the pancake onto a stack of others. Setting the hot skillet to the side, he shifted the stack to a spot near her, placing butter and syrup alongside. He pulled bacon from the microwave.
    “You prefer coffee? Orange juice?”
    “Juice is good.”
    Again, he turned aside, filling two glasses and handing her an empty plate. “Help yourself.”
    She took one, smeared it with butter, and a light dot of syrup.
    “To answer your question,”