It felt as if he could take care of them. It felt as if they were all his. It felt strong, and it felt awkward, too, this new, fresh caution about all the things that he might do or be wrong. Was the scent of him, or the motion, stirring up nausea? Odd and disturbing, how much the changes inside her could change their relationship, when he hadn’t changed at all—the scent of her still made him feel as if he had come home. Until he found her, or she found him, the kitchen had been the only home he had, his apartment no more than a place to eat potato chips, watch TV until the adrenaline released him, and sleep. Now he had her, for his home. But… “It’s my security,” he whispered to her. “The restaurant. When I’m worried, it’s where I know I can get everything right.” “Mmm?” A sleepy, questioning noise from Summer as he lowered her onto the mattress. He folded the comforter over her and knelt by the side of the bed.
