I’m walking out of the suite when I notice a table, draped in white linen, that waits in the hallway. The smell of coffee fills my head as I take in the spread. There’s a silver coffeepot, a tiny pitcher of creamer, a Saran-wrapped bowl of cut fruit. A pair of stacked cardboard coffee cups sit beside two ceramic ones. Holy shit, did Sawyer order room service for us? “Wasn’t sure if you’d want your coffee for here or to go.” I whip around at the sound of the deliciously deep, sleepy voice behind me. Sawyer is standing in the doorway, one arm held up over his head, his elbow resting on the
...more
