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After dinner, he and Rubirosa had packed the few things he’d accumulated—his new wallet, shaving kit, toothbrush, two changes of clothes—and changed the sheets on the guest bed, throwing the used linens in the laundry basket. Then, with words of thanks, they left McCoy’s apartment. The older man had stopped him with a handshake that had turned into a one-armed hug, assuring him that he was always welcome.
Cutter flushed slightly and smiled, unsure if he was pleased or embarrassed.
They’d hailed a cab and gone straight to Rubirosa’s apartment, she with her suitcase and he with the large shopping bag containing his belongings. From there, they’d each unpacked—straight into the laundry in both cases—and cuddled on the couch for a while before retiring.
Rubirosa, exhausted from more than two days with next to no sleep, had dropped off immediately. Cutter, only slightly less tired, still lay awake, listening to the soft susurration of her breathing, a slight smile on his face. After a time, he shifted forward slowly and breathed in her scent before gently kissing her bare shoulder where it emerged from the cotton tank top she wore; shifting closer, he spooned into her and settled, his arm and injured hand draped gently around her waist.
Contented, finally feeling that perhaps his world would survive after all, he closed his eyes.
He smiled gently as he drifted to sleep.