The couch was too short for my frame.
I'd known that when I chose it, had specifically selected furniture that discouraged overnight guests, that reinforced the solitary life I'd built for myself.
Now I lay diagonal across the cushions, feet hanging off one end, a thin blanket that wasn't nearly warm enough pulled up to my chest.
Twenty feet away, through a door I'd left cracked open in case she needed anything, Sloane Harper was sleeping in my bed.
The woman I'd loved. The woman I'd lost. The woman I'd spent years trying to forget and failing, always failing, because some people carve themselves into you so deeply that removing them would mean removing parts of yourself.
I stared at the ceiling.
Counted the reasons this was a terrible idea.
The history between us, complicated and painful. The case we were working on, which required professional distance. The fact that she'd left once and could leave again. The fact that I'd barely survived losing her the first time.
The fact that I was already in too deep to pretend otherwise.
CHAPTER 9
Sloane
Awareness seeped in slowly.Like light under a door, like water through cracks.
Soft sheets. Too soft, not my sheets. Wrong angle of sunlight, falling across my face from the wrong direction.
A room that smelled like?—
My eyes flew open.
Garrett's bedroom.
I sat up fast, heart hammering, taking in the details with the automatic cataloging of a journalist who'd trained herself to notice everything. Spare furniture, neatly organized. A dresser with nothing on top except a watch and a small bowl for loose change. Closet door closed. An attached bathroom, door ajar, showing clean tile and folded towels.
The couch. I'd been on the couch. Working late, cross-referencing property records, and then…
Nothing. Just the vague memory of being warm and safe and carried.
He carried me.
The realization landed somewhere between my ribs, spreading outward like heat.
I'd fallen asleep on his couch, and instead of waking me, instead of letting me stumble home or sleep where I'd dropped, Garrett Stone had lifted me in his arms and brought me to his bed.
And then slept somewhere else.
I pressed my palms to my face. Breathed. Tried to make sense of the ache blooming in my chest.
The bathroom helped. I splashed cold water on my face, borrowed mouthwash, and took a hard look at myself in his mirror.
I looked tired. Rumpled. Like someone who'd spent the night somewhere she shouldn't have been.
I opened the bedroom door.
Garrett was in the kitchen. Gray sweatpants slung low on his hips. White t-shirt that pulled across his shoulders.
He looked up when I appeared, and something flickered across his face.
"You're awake."
