His arm tightens around me. “Okay. Just checking.”
We lie here another moment, his fingers idly playing with a strand of my hair, the silence comfortable instead of heavy. It feels domestic in a way that makes my chest ache.
“I forgot how much you talk in your sleep,” he says suddenly.
I stiffen. “I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
“What did I say?” I ask, instantly suspicious.
He grins. “Nothing incriminating. Mostly my name. Once you told me to ‘stop being a hero’ and ‘go get water.’”
Heat rushes to my face. “I was being responsible.”
He laughs, full and warm, then presses a kiss to my forehead. “You always were.”
Something about that—always—settles into me like a promise and I smile sighing against Harrison’s chest, finally feeling content and happy for the first time in, well, years.
And then my stomach growls loudly, completely betraying the sweet moment.
We freeze and then Harrison bursts out laughing. “Wow. Timing.”
I groan and bury my face in his chest. “Ugh. Please pretend you didn’t hear that.”
“Oh no,” he says, amused. “We are absolutely acknowledging it. That is the sound of someone who needs breakfast.”
“I did not plan for breakfast,” I mumble. “I planned for…you know…”
He tilts my chin up gently until I’m looking at him. “Lucky for you, I own cereal. And eggs. And approximately seventeen protein shakes.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I draw the line at protein shakes.”
“Fair.” He pauses. “Though I should warn you, if you stay, you’re officially my first ‘morning after’ guest.”
The weight of that lands between us.
I search his face. “Is that okay?”
His expression softens, something earnest and steady settling in his eyes. “More than okay.” My chest tightens as he brushes his thumb over my cheek. “I know this is complicated,” he says quietly. “With Connor. With us. With everything we lost and everything we’re trying to figure out.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“But this?” He gestures between us, small but certain. “This feels right.”
I lean in and kiss him, slowly, unhurried, smiling into it. “It does.”
He rests his forehead against mine. “So. Stay for breakfast?”
I pretend to think about it. “Only if you promise not to burn anything.”
He scoffs. “Says the woman who burned the garlic bread.”
“Touché.” I giggle. “I’ve seen your cooking skills, you know.”
“Correction,” he says with a smirk. “Yousawmy college cooking skills. Mac-n-cheese, ramen, pb&j, but my tastes have matured over the years.”
“Oh yeah?” I smooth my hand over the ridges of his abs.
