I huffed a quiet laugh, the sound muffled by Tabby’s offended flick of a tail. Coop grinned, relief flashing across his face, and carefully disentangled himself without disturbing Rachel or the cats.
“I’m going to—” he gestured vaguely toward the bathroom, then winced. “Before I explode.”
“Good plan,” I whispered.
He slipped out of the bed like he’d practiced it, easing the door shut behind him.
Rachel stirred.
Her eyes cracked open, immediately alert, and then softened when she saw me watching her.
“Oh good,” she said quietly. “You’re still here.”
I snorted. “Hush.”
She laughed anyway, the sound low and warm, and reached out to scratch Tory under the chin. “You okay?”
“Better,” I admitted. It felt strange to say it—but it was true. “Still… off. But better.”
Rachel nodded like she understood exactly what kind ofbetterthat was.
Coop came back a few minutes later, hair damp from splashing water on his face, cheeks faintly pink like he’d lost an argument with the mirror. He froze when he saw both of us watching him.
“What?” he asked warily.
Rachel snorted. “You look like you slept in jeans.”
“Ididsleep in jeans,” he muttered.
“And yet,” I added mildly, “you slept like the dead.”
“How do you know?” His eyes narrowed.
“Cause you snore,” she answered with such a slow diabolical smile, I almost ruined it by laughing aloud. Coop, did not, in fact, snore. But Rachel’s playful remark landed.
“Uh huh.” Ears turning red, Coop ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Pretty sure that was the cats.”
Tabby flicked her tail like she’d been personally offended by that accusation.
Rachel stretched, then rolled off the bed with a decisive nod. “Okay. Shower order. Frankie first. You look like you’re still buffering.”
I opened my mouth to protest and then… didn’t. I showered the night before, but I hadn’t washed my hair. I hadn’t—I hadn’t done more than try to wash away the day. She was right. My brain felt like it had too many tabs open, all playing sound.
The bathroom filled with steam and the familiar hiss of water, and for ten blessed minutes, the world narrowed to heat and soap and the steady thrum of something predictable. I stayed under longer than I probably should have, letting yesterday slide off me in slow increments.
When I came back out, wrapped in a towel and blinking like a newborn, Coop was nowhere to be seen and Rachel was digging through my closet with unapologetic intent.
“I’m borrowing,” she announced.
“Help yourself.”
“I was.” The ease of her voice and in her smile, made me laugh.
She tossed me a soft shirt and a pair of leggings, then disappeared into the bathroom herself. I was halfway into pulling on the shirt when the door from the hall opened and Coop stepped in—shirtless and hair damp.
I froze.
He froze.
