One hand skimmed over my shoulder, the other brushed my hair away from my face. Minutes passed. Maybe more. Time didn’t matter.
Finally, he shifted enough to kiss the top of my head. “You okay?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
I nodded. “Better than okay.”
“Me too.” He let out a breath and eased out of me. “I’ll be right back.”
I pulled the blanket up around my shoulders and snuggled into his pillow while he took care of the condom. My body still tingled everywhere.
When he came back, he climbed into bed and tucked me against his side. “Are you cold?”
I shook my head and traced the familiar patterns of the tattoos on his chest. "Garner?”
"Hmm?"
I propped myself up on an elbow and stared into his eyes while I tried to summon the courage I needed. "I care about you. More than pretending. More than?—"
His soft chuckle, low and relieved, cut me off. His lips found mine in a sweet, languid kiss, stealing whatever words I'd been planning on saying.
"Get some sleep," he murmured against my mouth, his voice a delicious rumble that vibrated through my chest.
I wanted to finish what I was trying to say, but exhaustion was already pulling at my limbs. I nestled against him, my head finding that perfect spot between his shoulder and chest. His heartbeat was strong and steady underneath my ear, and I let it lull me to sleep.
We’d forgotten to pull the shades last night, and bright morning light streamed through the gauzy curtains, casting golden patterns across the bed. I blinked awake slowly, awareness creeping in alongside the warmth of tangled limbs. Garner's arm was heavy across my waist, one of his legs pressed between mine. His breathing was deep and even against my neck.
For a moment, I absorbed the sensation of being held by him, surrounded by his scent and warmth. It felt like home. Like the place I was always supposed to be.
I shifted slightly, turning in his arms to look at his face. Sleep softened his features, making him look younger, reminding me of the boy I’d fallen for back in high school. His dark lashes rested against his cheeks, his full lips slightly parted. Without thinking, I reached up to trace the line of his jaw with my fingertip.
His eyes fluttered open, focusing slowly on my face. For one heartbeat, there was nothing but sleepy affection in his gaze. Then, like a curtain falling, something shuttered behind his eyes.
"Morning," he said, his voice rough with sleep as he pulled away slightly, creating space between us.
"Good morning," I whispered back, suddenly unsure. Maybe I’d imagined the closeness we’d shared last night, and the way he'd looked at me like I meant everything.
He sat up, running a hand through his messed-up hair. "Breakfast probably already started downstairs."
"Garner—" I started as I reached for him.
"I should grab a quick shower." He slid out of bed, disappearing into the bathroom without looking back.
I sat there, sheet clutched to my chest, shocked and chilled to the bone. Last night had been... everything. Perfect. The culmination of years of secret longing and friendship transformed into something deeper. At least, that's what it had been for me.
The shower started running, and I forced myself to move. I picked up our pajamas from the floor and tossed them on the bed, my stomach twisting as I remembered how it had felt tugging Garner’s sweats off right before we… I stopped myself from going there and snapped the rubber band against my wrist… once, twice, three times. The sharp little sting grounded me.
By the time Garner emerged from the bathroom, dressed in jeans and a fresh t-shirt, his hair damp and his expression neutral, I'd composed myself.
"Give me ten minutes and I’ll be ready for breakfast." I brushed past him toward the bathroom, forcing a smile like my heart wasn't cracking in my chest.
When I came out, showered, dressed, and determined not to crack, I shoved my feet into my shoes and picked up my purse. “Ready?”
He nodded, grabbing his wallet and room key. "Let's go."
The walk to the dining room was silent, a chasm opening between us with each step. When had it become so difficult to talk to Garner? This was the man who'd held my hair back when I'd had too much wine at Ruby’s birthday last year. The man who knew exactly how I liked my coffee and what true crime podcasts gave me nightmares. The man who, only hours ago, had whispered my name like a prayer as our bodies moved together.
Now he might as well have been a stranger.
At breakfast, he was polite but distant, answering direct questions but offering nothing more. He refilled my coffee without asking, a gesture so familiar it made my throat tight.
