She raised an eyebrow.
‘Um… your…’ He pointed at her nightshirt, ridiculously aware that he’d probably directed his finger straight at her breasts.
‘Thanks.’ She gave him a little smirk, then left with her wash bag.
Sam sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face. Seriously, what was going on with him? He got dressed in his very boring grey and black short pyjamas, then with a sigh, pulled back the cover and got in. He scrolled his phone for a few moments. When Clara came back, she grinned as she flipped back the duvet on the other side and jumped in. The bed was not the biggest, and there really wasn’t a chance they’d be able to put any distance between them.
Turning off the light on his side, he kept close to the edge, giving her as much space as he could, but Clara seemed completely unbothered, rolling onto her side to face him.
‘Night-night. If you feel something cold creeping up your spine in the night, don’t worry, it’ll just be my feet.’ She giggled.
‘We should have brought you a hot water bottle.’
‘They don’t work… as soon as they get cold, my feet do too.’
‘Shame.’
‘It’s ok though, you’ll be warm all night.’
He let out a half laugh. ‘No doubt. Now, night-night. I need to sleep.’
‘Yeah, same. That was a long way to drive.’ She leaned over and pressed a quick peck to his cheek. ‘Good night, Sam,’ she whispered, rolling over, settling back against her pillow, and pulling the duvet tighter around her.
‘Night, Clara.’ His fingers strayed to his cheek, and he closed his eyes, lying still, listening to her breathing as she drifted off.
It took him a while to follow, but he must have managed, because the next thing he knew, he was waking up far too warm under the duvet. For a few dazed seconds, he couldn’t place where he was. Then it came back – the cottage, the one-bed situation, Clara beside him.
He shifted, sliding one leg out from beneath the covers to catch a breath of cool air. It had been a long time since he’d shared a bed with anyone, and he’d forgotten just how much heat another person could generate. Trying not to wake her, he pushed himself upright, peeled off his T-shirt, and let it fall to the floor. The air against his skin felt instantly better.
He lay back, eyes on the low ceiling, listening to the quiet. Only Clara’s slow, steady breathing broke the silence. Something about that sound tugged at him – peaceful, almost soothing.
When he turned his head to look at her, the thought hit him hard. She was beautiful anyway, but like this – hair fanned across the pillow, face soft with sleep – she was something else entirely. Almost angelic.
His eyelids drooped, and he fell into a half sleep, where he wasn’t fully gone, but he wasn’t awake either.
What was probably hours later, the soft creak of the door opening made him stir, and he realised Clara had got up. Maybe he’d woken her, though he hadn’t meant to… Or maybe it was morning, and he’d actually been asleep for hours. He blinked. The room was still dark, but the glow around the closed curtains looked a little brighter.
When Clara came back, she slipped under the covers again, with a soft rustle of sheets.
‘What time is it?’ Sam rolled his head to face her again.
‘Ten past six,’ Clara said.
‘Too early.’ Sam yawned, rolling to face her, his hands clasped on the pillow by his face. ‘Did I wake you?’
‘No. I just needed the loo.’ Her hands brushed against his, and he realised she must be mirroring his position. ‘Are you naked under there?’
Sam huffed. ‘No, I just took my shirt off. I got too hot.’
‘Oof.’ Clara nudged his hands. ‘We can’t have you getting toohot. That would be very dangerous for a poor girl like me.’
Sam groaned. ‘You’re not funny.’
‘Then why are you laughing?’
‘I really don’t know.’ He pressed his knuckles to his mouth to hold back a yawn.
‘Let’s grab some more shut-eye before morning,’ she whispered.
