Daisy heard the curtain to the bathroom slide back. Pete must have finished his bedtime ablutions. Moments later, he wandered into the living area clad in cut-off sweats and nothing else.

Wowza.

His hair was wet and touched his shoulders, the strands looking darker than when they were dry. A very small medal on a chain hung between his collar bones, drawing the eye to his very toned chest. Washboard abs moved down his front to meet a very defined V-line, which framed the beginning of dark fuzzy hair that disappeared into the front of his sweats. Long legs emerged from the ragged shorts, legs that looked like they should be on a cyclist or something.

Daisy returned her eyes to the book she was reading, though looking at Pete was way more fun than trying to navigate the hidden messages of Gustave Flaubert's Madame Bovary. She shifted surreptitiously in the armchair, trying to ignore the swooping sensation in her tummy and the heat that bloomed between her legs.

It was probably just the baby, anyway. It definitely didn't have anything to do with the vision that had appeared in front of her, the hot guy with the amazing eyes and beautiful mouth.

Yeah. Definitely the baby.

It was full dark, their first evening in their new apartment. They'd made a lot of progress unpacking, and the place was starting to look livable. All of the books had been unpacked, adding color to the far wall, and the kitchen was semi-organized as well. They'd made the bed together, and decided to call it a day. Pete was a music major and had a lot of equipment, plus a guitar, that they were going to have to find room for. As of now, it looked like a recording studio had exploded in their living room. Most of the books were Daisy's, as she was an English major.

"Would you like some tea?" Pete asked from the kitchen.

"Oh, that sounds nice," Daisy responded, trying not to look between the cabinets and counter to see him, shirtless, as he moved about the kitchen.

Pete put the kettle on to boil and joined Daisy in the living room. She was in her oldest, rattiest pjs, comfort clothing, really. He could see her figure much more clearly than she probably realized; the soft, pink cotton molded sweetly to the side of her breast in the lamplight, the material of the bottoms pulled taut against her hip. Fuzzy slippers completed the ensemble, and seeing them made Pete smile.

"What?" she asked, smiling at him over her book. The glow of the incandescent bulb in the lamp made her hair appear halo-like, almost like a pre-Raphaelite painting.

He shook his head. "Nothing. Pregnancy agrees with you, you know?"

"Really?" she responded with a laugh. "I mainly feel sick and bloated, to be honest. I'm so glad it doesn't show."

The kettle whistled, and he left his place on the couch, returning a couple minutes later with two mugs.

"Earl Grey for you, right?" he asked as he set one of the mugs down next to her.

"Yeah, thanks," she said, enjoying the fragrance that wafted up on the steam. How had he known that?

He sat across from her again, opening a notebook and picking up a pen.

They sat in companionable silence for nearly an hour, before Daisy's eyes started to droop, her posture relaxing where she sat.

"You're sleepy," Pete said immediately. "Perhaps we should go to bed, hmm?" He put his notebook aside, rose, and gathered their mugs to return them to the kitchen.

Daisy nodded and rose, wincing as she stretched.

Pete's eyes went once again to her waist as her pajama top rode up a little, showing that delectable bit of smooth skin between it and the waistband of her bottoms. He lifted his glance to her front, where her round breasts, nipples clearly visible, pressed against the nearly see-through fabric of her shirt.He quickly blinked and looked away, hoping she hadn't noticed his errant gaze. He was going to have to lock that down if they were going to be spending so much time so close. She'd made it very clear that she wasn't interested in him in that way.

Daisy put a fist in front of her yawn, looking so much like a small child that Pete had to cover another smile.

She walked ahead of him down the hall, ducking into the bathroom.

He continued to their bedroom, where two comforters delineated separate ownership of the two sides of the bed. He turned off the overhead light, instead switching on the small, bedside lamp on his side. He got in, pulling the cover over his lower half.

She came in, smelling faintly of toothpaste, and quickly climbed in on her side, obviously feeling awkward.

"I didn't ask if it was okay for me to sleep this way?" Pete asked, gesturing to his shirtless state. "I'm used to sleeping wearing very little. It's really hot where I grew up," he continued by way of explanation.

"No, it's fine," Daisy said, pulling her own comforter more modestly over herself. It was the first time she could remember being in a bed with a man where the primary directive wasn't to have sex, and she felt strange. She kept wanting to slide closer to him, touch him. And, shower notwithstanding, he still smelled outstanding. WTF? No one should smell this good just to freakin' sleep.

"What part of Italy are you from?" she asked, partly to distract herself, partly because hearing his voice, with the Italian accent, in the dark, was very pleasant, sexy and soothing in equal measure.

"I'm from Tuscany, on the west coast, north of Rome?" he responded. "My family owns a small vineyard. Just a few acres. It's been in the family for a long time, and as the only son, my father really hoped I'd carry it on. He wasn't very happy when I was accepted to Columbia on a music scholarship, of all things. I spent most of my life working in the vineyards."

"Oh. Is that why you're so built?" Daisy asked without thinking. She had images of Pete, shirtless, of course, under the Italian sun, baskets of grapes slung over his broad shoulders. That was probably all wrong, they probably had machines to do all that stuff now.

Pete let out a laugh, quiet and smooth in the darkness of their bedroom. "Built? I suppose so. I mean, there's a lot of manual labor involved in running a winery, particularly ours, which isn't as modern as others.

"I also like to swim for exercise, so maybe that has contributed to my 'build' as well," he continued, and Daisy could hear the smile in his voice.

Fuck. Had she really said that out loud? Quick, change the subject.

"So do you feel bad about leaving your family business?"

She heard him shake his head. "No, not really. I have four sisters, and two of them married brothers, foremen of our winery. They live for grapes and wine, it's their life. The winery is in good hands."

"Sounds nice," Daisy commented softly, and Pete could picture her lips forming the words.

He turned on his side so he could see her better. She appeared monochromatic in the light which shone through the windows, her hair flameless for the moment. Her hands were drawn in to her chest, knees pulled up a little bit, eyes already closed.

"Yeah, it is nice," he responded, just as softly. He reached out to push a curl away from her nose, where it had drooped when she turned sideways.

She was already breathing the deep, even breaths of sleep, and Pete watched over her for a while before resolutely turning on his back to look up at the ceiling. Eventually his eyes closed, and he, too, fell asleep.