She wakes in a warm tangle of limbs and sheets, her face buried in the hollow of Bill's neck and shoulder.
The room is half-lit in early-morning gray, and she stifles a yawn.
Shifting, her leg moves higher on his thigh; she breathes deep, blinking the blurriness from her vision.
Bill stirs next to her, his arm tightening around her to draw her closer. Her lips press against his neck, and she smiles against his skin.
"Morning," she says, her voice soft and hoarse.