“Sure,” he finally replied, taking a step back and nodding for her to crawl back into the king-sized bed.
“Okay, but you can’t just stand there like a creepy vampire watching the underage high-school girl he wants to devour.” She crawled back into the bed.
He laughed. “You want me to grab one of the breakfast barstools? How will that be any less creepy?”
She groaned and slapped the side of the mattress on her left. “Just sit for a minute, creeper. I’m sure I’ll be out quicker than you can blink, but just in case…”
“Fine,” he relented, then moved stiffly to the other side of the bed as she took several more sips from her tumbler. But when Ash positioned himself precariously close to the opposite edge of the bed, Willow pivoted to face him, her head nestling into her two fluffy pillows.
She yawned, and her eyelids drooped.
“I loved you once,” she murmured dreamily, and Ash almost fell off the bed.
“What?” he asked, gripping the edge of the nightstand on his side to keep from toppling to the floor.
Willow sighed, her eyes fluttering closed. “Your song…” she amended, her voice light as air. “‘I Loved You Once.’ Was it about…? Was it aboutme?”
“It’s just a song, Willow,” he whispered, and she hummed a soft sigh.
“That’s what I thought.” The only thing to come from her lips after that was a soft snore.
“They’re all just songs,” he added, voice barely audible even to himself. “And they’reallabout you.”
Chapter 10
Willow sat bolt upright in bed. She was going to be sick. Or maybe…
She fumbled in the dark in the direction of her bedside table.
“Yes! Thank you!” she whispered when she clasped the handle on the side of her tumbler and felt liquid move inside. She brought the straw to her lips and drank, and drank, and drank. She had a vague recollection of someone suggesting she finish the water before she fell asleep, but her thoughts felt like how trying to talk underwater sounded.
Good god. How much wine did she have at Eli and Beth’s? Considering she couldn’t remember her glass ever being empty, the answer added up to…a lot. It was still pitch-dark in her room, and when she tapped her phone’s lock screen, she understood why.
4:17 a.m.
The water helped, but she still felt like she’d been standing under a cottonwood tree on a breezy day with her mouth open.
She padded to the bathroom, tumbler in hand, her eyes thankfully adjusting to the dark so shedidn’t have to accost her senses by flipping the light on. She brushed her teeth, remembering that the few times she’d been hung over in her life, a minty-clean mouth helped. Once again, it did. Then she refilled her tumbler from the tap and spun to collapse back into bed.
She gasped, raising the metal cup above her head, ready to strike, until—on further scrutiny—she realized the fully clothed stranger in her bed was Ash.
“Oh my god,” she mouthed. She could have actually killed him this time.
Hand to her chest, she breathed in and out…in and out…until she wasn’t shaking anymore. And then it came back to her, the one word she’d said—tipsy, pre-midnight—that put her in this predicament.
Stay.
And now Ash Murphy was sleeping in her bed. Her chest tightened, and her stomach protested for an entirely different reason than when she’d woken up. Or was that…butterflies? Her head swam with the memory of what she’d told her brother about forgiving Ash, with Ash telling her that he regretted what happened every day for four years. Realizing she was barely clothed, she set her cup on the dresser, scurried back into the bathroom and yanked down the shirt she’d hung from the hook on the back of the door.Ash’sshirt. On instinct sheburied her face in it and inhaled the mixture of her familiar tropical-scented body wash mixed with fresh grass and something inherently Ash.
Goose bumps suddenly peppered her flesh, and Willow found herself sliding her arms into the sleeves and pulling the shirt closed over her torso as if she were hugging herself.
She needed to get back to sleep if she wanted to feel remotely human by the time the alarm went off for her to head to the farmers market. She needed to get Ash Murphy out of her bed and onto the couch where he belonged.
Willow climbed tentatively onto her side and slid back under the covers. Ash lay on top of the duvet and top sheet.
“Hey!” she whispered, poking him in the shoulder. “Ash! You fell asleep in the wrong bed.” He didn’t budge. So she grabbed his biceps and gave him a soft yet insistent shake. “Come on, Ash. Time to go nighty night on the couchy couch.” Still nothing.
If this had been anyone else, Willow would have accused him of faking it. But Ash Murphy slept like the dead…and sometimes talked in his sleep. She knew this not because she’d read it in a gossip magazine or seen it posted on social media. She knew he was a deep sleeper because one night four years ago, the side of the bed where he slept now was the side of the bed he shared withher.
