What is he even talking about?
Jamie works like a charm.
He lets each of their phones ring once to confirm the contact saves, then keeps typing away. “All right, you’re all set,” Grey announces, handing me my phone with a group chat open.
I’m about to argue that Jamie doesn’tgo roguewhen Misha bursts out laughing, glancing at my phone screen. “Oh, come on, Grey.Emergency Contacts? Really?”
Without missing a beat, he snatches the phone from my hand and types quickly. “There, much better.” He hands it back to me with a grin.
The new group chat name readsHandsome Tech Support.
I can’t help but snort at thecreativity.
Putting my phone on the coffee table, I start squirming on the couch. Fussing with my braid, I ask, “Is Jamie back online yet?”
“A few more minutes. He’s still initializing,” Grey responds, tapping his forefinger on his knee in a rhythmic cadence.
That prompts Misha and Grey to dive into a deep technical discussion about Jamie and how they could improve him, throwing around terms likeneural networksandadaptive learning algorithms. I try to keep up, but the medical aftermath and the room’s warmth make my eyelids heavy.
Noticing my struggle to stay awake, Oliver leans closer, his voice a hushed whisper just for me. “It’s all right, you can take a nap. We’ll be here.”
His reassurance is like a spell. My body, no longer on high alert, surrenders to the fatigue. As I lean back against the cushions, the last thing I feel is Oliver’s gentle hand supporting my shoulder, easing me down. The voices around me fade into a comforting buzz as I drift off, secure in the knowledge that this time, I’m not alone.
The clickof my apartment door closing pulls me toward wakefulness just as I’m drifting at the edge of sleep, the kind that’s thick and comforting. I initially think the guys must have left, and a pang of disappointment hits me—sad that the pleasant weight of their presence is gone.
But then, I notice how warmth is wrapped around my feet, hands gently holding them, and another hand strokes the top of my head, the touch feather-light and surprisingly soothing. I’m so content and utterly cozy that I savor it.
Maybe it’s the tail end of a dream, but I’m not ready to let go just yet.
“Should we wake her?” Grey’s voice, barely a whisper, breaks the silence. His tone is low, uncharacteristically gentle, floating through the air like a delicate mist.
I’m tempted to respond, to open my eyes and rejoin the conscious world, but this moment is too precious. Instead, I remain still, feigning sleep a bit longer, basking in the rare feeling of being cared for. The hand on my hair pauses then resumes its soothing motion, and I can’t suppress the small, contented smile that curves my lips.
“She’s already awake,” Oliver murmurs, amusement in his voice.
Busted.
As I blink my eyes open, the first thing I see is Oliver’s face hovering above mine, his green eyes looking down with a gentle concern. His glasses have slid slightly down his nose, and with a deft touch of his finger, he pushes them back into place. A soft smile plays across his lips, and the proximity sends a flutter through my heart, making it skip a beat.
My gaze then drifts along the length of the couch, tracing the outline of my body until it reaches Misha at the other end. His black curls are tousled, and there’s a weary softness in his eyes—eyes that seem like they themselves could have used the nap I just had. Nonetheless, he grins at me and gives my feet a gentle squeeze.
Boundaries, Amelia.
Reacting to his touch, I withdraw my feet from his hold and sit upright. Grey is standing in front of the coffee table, holding four boxes of pizzas, making my stomach rumble loudly.
“What time is it? I didn’t mean to sleep for so long.” I yawn, taking off my glasses to rub my eyes.
“It’s all right. Your day was shitty. We just hope you’re really into pizza with fried eggs on it. If not, this could be dicey,” Misha cringes, laughing.
“How did you know?” I ask, puzzled.
“I looked up your preferences from earlier pizza deliveries and let them know,” Jamie answers and a weight lifts off my chest.
“Jamie,” I breathe out, wide awake now, looking around as if he would be in the room with us. “You’re back? And you remember me?”
“Of course I do, Amelia.”
“Yeah, Jamie’s online and probably judging us all harshly for our pizza choices. But yours is the worst.” Grey’s trademark smirk grows even bigger when I scowl at him. “I restored him with your backup, so he remembers every interaction.”
