He stirred the veggies in the pan and came toward me to lean on the counter. “You do have a list.”

“Maybe.”

“Come on, cupcake, you gotta share.”

“Okay, fine.” I rattled off the whole thing, minus the items I’d already ticked off.

Bishop’s eyebrows were nearly to his hairline when I was done. “You’ve put a little thought into this, haven’t you?”

I shrugged. “I’ve wanted to come here for a long time.”

“So now that you’re here, you’ve gotta check off the rest of the list, don’t you?”

“I may never get another chance.”

His eyebrows lowered into a furrow. “Why do you say that?”

“It’s complicated.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “You really don’t have a plan for how long you’re staying here, do you?”

I shook my head. “It’s . . . fluid at the moment. I’m going to stay as long as I can, though. I don’t want to leave.”

“Then don’t.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“This is your life, Eden. You get to choose.”

If only he knew how very wrong he was about that. I could only imagine what would happen if I didn’t obey the summons to come running back to New York. If Dom had to send someone to drag me back, they’d probably do it by my hair.

“What I get to do is make the most of it. So, you want to help me?”

I immediately wanted to snatch my question back, but it was too late. What if he didn’t want to help me? What if he didn’t ever want to see me again after tonight? He was a one-night kind of guy, so what made me think it would be any different with me?

Bishop turned back to the pan on the stove and lifted the lid. Steam escaped, and he spooned the vegetables into a bowl before dumping the colander of shrimp in. He seasoned them, but didn’t answer my question.

I felt like an idiot. “Never mind. I know you’re way too busy with work and everything to have time to—”

He looked over his shoulder at me. “Eden, shut up. If you think you’re going to knock that list out without me, you’re in for a hell of a surprise. Now, let me work my magic on this stir-fry and then we’ll eat and figure out what we’re going to tackle first.”

MY EYES FLICKED OPEN BUT the rest of my body stilled. Heat radiated against my back, and a heavy arm rested on my side.

Oh my God, I’m in Bishop’s bed. I repeat— In. Bishop’s. Bed.

I scanned the room for a clock but saw nothing that could give me a hint as to the time. Last night, we’d eaten stir-fry off of mismatched plates and talked about my list until I could barely keep my eyes open. At one point, I was a little concerned I’d fall asleep midsentence and face-plant in my food.

I don’t have a problem with carrying you home, Bishop had started to say, but I didn’t remember anything after that.

He must have tucked me into his bed and called it a night.

I’m in Bishop’s bed.

If I had to guess whether Bishop made a habit of letting women spend the night, my answer would be an unequivocal no.

So, what was this?

He shifted, and a thick, hard ridge pressed into the crack of my ass.

Oh my God. His morning wood felt just as big as I remembered from last night.

“Mornin’.” Bishop’s voice was rough from sleep, and sounded even more delicious than it did normally.

“Good morning,” I replied before clamping my mouth shut. I had to have horrible morning breath.

“You passed out after dinner last night. I decided you were sleeping in my bed.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but shut it again.

“You okay?”

My response was a nod.

Bishop’s eyes clouded with confusion for a beat before clearing. “Ah, I’m killing you with my breath.” He picked his arm up and rolled to the side. “Sorry ’bout that.”

I didn’t speak until he was firmly out of my bad-breath trajectory. “Not you, me. Do you have an extra toothbrush?”

All thoughts of brushing my teeth died when he pulled an elastic from his hair. The golden-brown waves fell around his shoulders, and he shook them out.

Holy. Fucking. Hell.

Everything in me screamed to throw myself at him and climb him like a tree. That was the guy who’d given me the best non-self-induced orgasms of my life. That was the guy who said he’d help me check the items off my list. That was the guy who’d spooned me last night.

“You’re beautiful.” My voice was quiet, almost reverent.

Bishop froze. “What?”

“You’re beautiful. I just thought you should know.”

“Guys aren’t beautiful, cupcake.”

“That’s not true, because some definitely are. You’re one of them.”

He shook his head. “Goofball. You want to shower here again? I did throw your clothes in the wash before I climbed in bed. They shouldn’t take too long to dry. I’ll run down and grab donuts and coffee, and you can wait up here.”

“You’re . . . not going to tell Fabienne I spent the night, are you?”

A hard mask slipped over his features. “Why would I tell her?”

“I don’t know. I just . . . She’s my new boss and I’m still working on making a good impression. I don’t want her to think I took the job just so I would see you. Never mind. I’m not making any sense. Forget I said anything.”

Confusion flashed in his expression before it softened. “I wouldn’t say anything to your boss you didn’t want me to say. For the record, Fabienne wouldn’t care about anything other than the fact that I’ll be coming into the shop even more now, anyway.”

Because he wants to see me?

The implication hung there, but I didn’t ask to confirm.

Bishop didn’t stick around to offer a confirmation either. He turned and walked toward the dresser, and it finally dawned on me that he was wearing boxer briefs.

But . . . “You don’t wear underwear normally.”

He swung his head around to look at me. “Is that right?”

“Well, at least not the night you came in the pool, or last night.”

His gaze never left mine. “You making a study of my habits?”