“Are you sure? Because this feels very intentional.”
Purrsephone chose that moment to stretch again, her front paws pressing against Farley’s chest while her back paws dug into my stomach. She now occupied approximately seventy percent of the available bed space.
“Okay,” Farley admitted. “That seems intentional.”
“It’s a very sophisticated strategy for a cat.” I reached out and stroked her. “She’s been running a two-cabin matchmaking operation since we got here.”
Farley laughed—a soft, sleepy sound that did things to my heart. “Fine. She’s a mastermind. We are merely pawns in her romantic scheming.”
“Glad we’re on the same page.”
Purrsephone’s purr intensified, as if she was pleased by our acknowledgment of her genius.
We lay there, the three of us, in Farley’s bed in the middle of a blizzard. It should have been uncomfortable. But somehow, withPurrsephone’s warm weight between us and Farley’s breathing evening out into sleep beside me, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
When I woke again, gray light was filtering through the curtains.
The storm had quieted—I could tell by the absence of howling wind—and the space heater was still humming faithfully in the corner. I was warm, and there was a weight pressed against my back that was decidedly not cat-shaped.
I went very, very still.
At some point during the night, Purrsephone had apparently decided her chaperoning duties were complete, because she was now curled up on the pillow above our heads, her fluffy tail draped over Farley’s hair like a bizarre feline crown.
And Farley was pressed against my back, one arm draped over my waist, his face tucked against the nape of my neck. I could feel his breath, slow and even, warm against my skin. His body was curved around mine like we’d been doing this for years instead of one night.
I didn’t move. Couldn’t move.
Because if I moved, this would end. He’d wake up and realize what he was doing and pull away, embarrassed and apologetic, and we’d go back to being friends who were trying very hard not to want more.
But right now, on this quiet morning after the storm, I could pretend this was real. That Farley Davenport was holding me because he wanted to, because being close to me was as natural and necessary as breathing.
Right now, I could pretend we’d already figured out all the complicated stuff and arrived at the part where we just belonged to each other.
I’m in so much trouble.
Chapter Fourteen
Farley
Iwoke up wrapped around Samuel Bennett like he was a body pillow I’d ordered from a spa catalog.
For a long, disorienting moment, I didn’t move. Couldn’t move. My face was pressed against the back of his neck, my arm was draped over his waist, and at some point during the night, my leg had apparently decided to tangle itself between both of his.
This was not the pillow-barrier, stay-on-your-own-side, purely platonic sleeping arrangement I’d promised.
This was cuddling. Aggressive, full-body, no-plausible-deniability cuddling.
I needed to extract myself before Samuel woke up and realized what I’d done. Carefully, slowly, I began to inch backward—
“If you’re trying to escape without waking me,” Samuel’s voice rumbled, thick with sleep, “you should know that ship sailed about five minutes ago.”
I froze.
“You’ve been awake?”
“Mmhmm.”
“For five minutes?”
