Not just the physical warmth of blankets and body heat, but something deeper. A warmth that settled in my chest and made me want to stay exactly where I was forever.
Marco was still asleep, his head on my shoulder, one arm draped across my chest. Morning light filtered through the windows, and I could see his face relaxed in sleep. The worry lines that had been etched between his eyebrows for days were gone. He looked peaceful. Content.
He looked like mine.
The thought should have terrified me. A day ago, I’d been convinced I’d spend the rest of my life hiding my feelings. Now I was lying here with him in my arms, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
I carefully extracted myself, trying not to wake him. He mumbled something and shifted but stayed asleep. His injured foot was still propped on pillows, the boot securing it in place.
Reality crashed back in as I checked my phone: 7:06 a.m.I had to be at the airport by nine thirty for our flight to Winnipeg. A one-day road trip—fly out that morning, play that evening, fly back the next morning.
Twenty-four hours away from Marco.
The thought made my chest tight. Which was ridiculous. I’d been on road trips before. Lots of them. They were part of the job.
But this time felt different.
I showered quickly, threw on jeans and a comfortable sweater—my usual road trip travel outfit. Packed my toiletries and sleep pants. Made coffee, extra strong, because neither of us had gotten nearly enough sleep.
When I came back to the living room with two mugs, Marco was awake, watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
“Morning,” I said, suddenly nervous. What if he regretted last night? What if, in the light of day, he’d changed his mind?
“Morning.” He took the coffee I offered, his fingers brushing mine. “Ready for your roadie to Winnipeg?”
“Yeah. I’ll be back early tomorrow afternoon.”
A flicker crossed his face. Disappointment, maybe.
“How are you feeling?” I settled on the edge of the coffee table in front of him. “About last night?”
“Scared,” he said honestly. “But good. Really good.” He paused. “You?”
“Same.” I reached out and touched his face, marveling that I could do that. “Any regrets?”
“None.” He leaned into my touch. “You?”
“Not even close.”
We sat there for a moment, just looking at each other. His beard needed to be trimmed, and his hair stuck up on one side. He looked rumpled and sleepy and so damn beautiful it made my chest ache.
“I have to leave soon,” I said reluctantly.
“I know.”
“Will you be okay? I can call Kinnunen’s wife, have her check on you?—”
“Étienne.” He caught my hand, laced our fingers together. “I’ll be fine. I’ve been managing with the crutches for over a week now. I can feed myself, navigate the bathroom, get what I need. I’m not completely helpless.”
“I know you’re not. I just—” I squeezed his hand. “I don’t want to leave you.”
“It’s one day. You’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Still too long.”
He smiled, and it transformed his whole face. “You’re kind of adorable when you’re worried.”
“I’m not adorable. I’m appropriately concerned.”
