When he was sure it wasn’t going to go out on its own, he pulled the mesh iron curtain across the fireplace, then set the metal grate into place. He sat on the coffee table and sipped his wine as he watched the flames dance. They gave off a heady warmth, and were mesmerizing to see.
From the kitchen, Braden called out, “Almost ready, Dad.”
Remy moved from the coffee table to the edge of the couch. Lane was still asleep—his eyes were shut, his brow unwrinkled, his hair disheveled where it had been pushed up against the arm of the couch. The blanket covered his body from foot to chin. He looked so peaceful, Remy almost hated to wake him.
But the clatter of silverware in the kitchen set him into motion. “Lane,” he murmured, brushing a hand across his lover’s forehead. “Dinnertime.”
Lane stirred and rolled against the back of the couch, but didn’t wake.