“What time is it?” I ask, yawning.
Hartley grabs his phone off the bedside table. “Four thirty.” He falls back against the pillows again. “I’m usually waking up at four thirty.”
I laugh. “Look at you, living on the wild side.”
“Last bite,” he says, yawning, too.
“Can’t. I’m literally ready to pop.”
He shoves the last bite into his mouth and sets the plate and fork next to the lamp. He shuts off the light, then scoots down under the covers. I move with him, without realizing it, and find myself curled up against him.
Once I realize what’s happening, it’s too late to pull away … if I wanted to. Which I don’t.
His right arm is tucked under my head, his fingers playing in my hair. It’s soothing. My eyes grow heavy as I breathe Hartley in and relax.
“Do you remember the summer I learned to braid your hair?” he asks softly.
I smile. “Of course. That was the summer we spent trying to create trails through the woods like we were Lewis and Clark or something.”
He laughs.
“I remember the look on your face when you told me I needed to start wearing a hat because you kept having to stop to pick pieces of branches out of my hair,” I say, replaying the memory.
“And you refused, naturally.”
“I don’t look good in hats,” I say, shrugging. “But I will say, you did pick up the braiding thing fast. You’re a natural.”
His chest rises and falls as he chuckles.
We lie in the quiet, the only sound Hartley’s steady heartbeat against my ear, and the only movement his fingers brushing through my hair.
Everything in my life is chaos right now. None of it was planned. And while I’m someone who likes adventure in her life, getting married and moving back to my hometown are pretty huge, unplanned events.
So, why am I not that worried about it?
It’s a slightly concerning question all on its own, though, and I’m not sure what that says about me.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask, drawing a circle around his tattoo.
“Sure.”
“Have you really not been with anyone since we were last together?”
He kisses the top of my head. “Nope.”
“I guess my real question is how is that possible?” I laugh softly. “You’re the catch of the century.”
“Lucky you, I guess.” He pulls me closer. “You haven’t been with anyone either?”
“Nope. And I’ll tell you how that’s possible since you clearly don’t know how to answer that question.” I smile against him. “I never found anyone interesting enough. I went on a couple of dates, but it just never felt right.”
“Does this feel right?”
His heartbeat quickens beneath my cheek, and his hand slows in my hair. I hear the hope in his voice. If I ever suspected such a thing before, it would set my feet on fire, and I’d leave at the next available opportunity. Sticking around meant opening yourself up to pain.
The memories. Other people’s expectations. Knowing someone long enough to give them access to my heart.
I can’t lose anyone else.
