Dove
At precisely seven-fifteen in the morning, the tranquil silence of our seaside villa didn't just break—it was obliterated.
One second I was fast asleep, curled like a cat against the solid, warm wall of Benecio's chest, my head tucked under his chin while the distant ocean waves lulled us through the open balcony doors. The next, a static-heavy screech echoed through the villa's high ceilings, followed by a voice so loud, so brassy, and so undeniably Texan that it shook the decorative glass vases on the nightstand.
"RISE AND SHINE, PEREIRA RANCH! WE AIN'T PAYIN' FOR RIO SUNSHINE TO WATCH Y'ALL SLEEP THE DAY AWAY! FEET ON THE FLOOR, LET'S GO, LET'S GO!"
Benecio jolted straight up in bed like he'd been struck by lightning, his body going into full defensive instinct. His broad shoulders hitched, his hair sticking up in a wild halo of curls, and for a split second, he looked ready to tackle an intruder.
