* * *
I don’t knowwhat time it is when the noise wakes me, but the telltale creak of the middle stair has me bolting upright in bed.
“Chloe?” The upstairs is dark and the sound stops when I call her name, so I lie still and listen, my heart rate waking me up faster than I can believe.
I heard something. I know my house, and when I hear it again, that same creak on the stairs, I’m out of bed and at my bedroom door in seconds.
I flip on the hall light and see Chloe looking sheepish. She’s on the staircase, her pillows and blankets bundled in her arms.
“What happened?” I blurt, concern overcoming every other emotion. “Are you okay?”
She’s paler than she should be, all bare legs and loose hair. “I couldn’t sleep down there. I felt too exposed,” she explains. “I thought I’d just make a little bed in your guest room.”
“On the floor?” I ask because I never bought another bed since I never had a need.
She nods. “Would you mind? I’ll be fine.” She trudges up the stairs, and I rake a hand through my hair.
“No, no, no,” I say. “You take my bed. I’ve crashed on that couch more times than I can count.” I scratch my bare chest and motion toward my room. “Come on. We’ll trade.”
She looks down at her bare toes, struggling to hold all the pillows and blankets in her arms. “Franco,” she says quietly. “Can I stay on the floor in your room? I can’t stop seeing him. I can’t stop seeing the knif—”
I don’t let her finish the word. I take the pillows and blankets from her arms and motion toward my room with my head. She moves past me without looking me in the eye.
I drop the pillows and blankets on the floor, and she leans over like she’s about to join them.
“No,” I say, shoving aside the pile of blankets with my foot. “Get in the bed.”
She looks at me curiously. She doesn’t argue, but she also doesn’t move.
“Do you trust me?” I ask her as I pull back the comforter and sheet for her.
I know what I’m about to do, and it could go very, very wrong. But I don’t care. Whatever my mom saw in Chloe that made her so desperately want to set me up with this woman, I’m seeing it too.
She hums a yes as she slides onto the bed and slips her toes and then her legs under my blankets. I close the bedroom door, then climb into my side of the bed.
We’re side by side as far apart on a small surface as two people can be.
“Come here,” I say, rolling onto my right side. I hold up the covers, and she scoots closer to me. “I won’t bite.”
She giggles, which I take as a good sign, and then pushes closer to me. Close enough that I have to sling an arm over her because there is nowhere else for it to go.
“Goodnight, Franco,” she whispers. “Thank you.”
I tell myself not to. I try to stop myself. But my mouth has a mind of its damn own, and I press a kiss to her hair and nestle my nose deep in the soft, berry-scented waves. “Sweet dreams,” I breathe.
She might trust me, but with her body tucked against mine, the curve of her plush ass fitted against my hips, the length of her hair tickling my bare chest, I sure as hell don’t trust myself.
8
CHLOE
I wakeup cuddled in the most luxurious, comfortable, softest bed I’ve ever been in. As soon as it hits me that I am not alone in the bed, the fog clears from my mind, and my lids fly open and bug out like a cartoon character’s.
The room is dim, the early morning sun still weak behind the blinds. I wiggle my toes, but that’s all I dare to move because behind me is a heaping furnace of a shirtless man.
His deep breathing makes me certain he’s still sound asleep, but the large palm tucked under my shirt rests against the skin of my belly.
I don’t know where his other arm is, but a quick inventory of my body parts confirms it. We’re not just spooning. We’re nestled like we were made to fit together.
