I nudge his shoulder with mine. “And we listen to sad playlists while making tortillas?”
“Exactly.”
And just like that, I know—Iknow—we’re building something here.
It’s quiet. It’s slow.
But it’sours.
TWENTY-TWO
SILAS
By the timethe movie ends—not that either of us were really watching it—Luke’s head is on my shoulder, and his breathing has gone soft and steady.
He’s out cold.
I glance down. His lashes are fanned over flushed cheeks, lips parted slightly, his whole body warm and heavy against mine. One arm is looped around my ribs as if he trusts me enough to hold on in his sleep.
God help me, that trust unravels something in my chest.
I shift carefully, slow enough not to wake him. His body stirs a little when I slide out from beneath him, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Just mumbles something that sounds like my name and reaches for me again.
I press a hand to his hair. “I’ve got you.”
He settles instantly. I stand, roll out my neck, and glance toward the hall. I didn’t plan for this. Didn’t plan for him to stay.
But he’s here. And I’m not sending him out into the nightor shoving him into an Uber when he clearly needs the rest. So I do the only thing I can.
I scoop him into my arms.
He hums, half-conscious. “M’not light,” he mutters.
“Could’ve fooled me,” I say, voice low as I carry him down the hall to my room.
He doesn’t respond. Just nuzzles into my chest.
I ease him down onto the bed, one arm still draped over my shoulder, like even asleep, he’s reluctant to let go. Carefully, I undo the button on his jeans, sliding them off, followed by his shirt. I stop at his boxers. I’m not about to push the line between soft comfort and something else.
Once he’s settled, I tug the blanket over him, brushing a bit of hair off his forehead.
His eyes flutter. Barely open.
“You leaving?” he asks, voice hoarse.
“No,” I say quietly. “I’m right here.”
I push off my sweats and climb in behind him, pulling him into my arms without hesitation. His body fits against mine as if we’ve done this a hundred times before—his back to my chest, my arm wrapping around his waist to anchor him there.
He sighs. Deep. Content.
“Warm,” he murmurs.
“Go back to sleep,” I whisper, pressing a soft kiss to the curve of his shoulder.
He does.
I lie awake for a while longer, staring at the wall, one hand smoothing slowly over the dip of his waist. Every breath he takes settles deeper into me, as though I’ve been waiting to exhale since the day we met.
