“Just a dream, boy.”
The digital clock blazed 2:47 a.m.
Nice. And now she was wide awake and circling back over the events of the past few days. She should roll over and clutch her pillow for dear life, and maybe when she woke up, life would reset.
The last seven—maybe even sixteen—years erased.
Orlando got up. Stretched and jumped off the bed. Walked to the door and whined.
“Really? It’s two in the morning.” But her stomach gurgled, and she hadn’t exactly let him out before bed, so ... “Okay.” She kicked off the quilts. “Come on. Kitchen run.”
She pulled on a sweatshirt over her pajama top. One of Jericho’s. He’d given it to her that first night, to warm her up.
The shirt reached past her hips, over her pajama bottoms. She pulled on wool socks and headed out into the hall.
The stairs creaked as she descended. Orlando scampered down in front of her.
A lamp glowed in the corner of the great room, and she paused, seeing Kennedy dressed in a robe and pajamas and slippers, reading in one of the overstuffed chairs.
“Hey,” she whispered.
Kennedy looked up. “Can’t sleep either?” For her part, Kennedy appeared tired, wan, but she smiled at Harley.
“Brain won’t shut off.” Harley padded toward the kitchen. “Want some warm milk?”
“Already ahead of you.” Kennedy raised a mug. “Although I added some hot cocoa to my milk.” She nodded toward the kitchen. “I heated it up in a pot on the stove. There’s enough for two.”
“Smells good.”
“Art colony recipe. Vanilla, nutmeg, semisweet chocolate chips.”
“I think I like your version of milk.”
Kennedy smiled at her as Harley headed to the kitchen and poured herself a mug of warm cocoa.
Then she opened the back door for Orlando.
The dog sat, right there, and looked up at her, as if confused.
“Really? Okay, pal. But don’t come crying to me in the morning when your bladder’s full.” She closed the door.
The dog sniffed at her chocolate.
“Nothing doin’, champ.” But she did stop by the fridge and pull out one of Jericho’s fancy dog treats. The Bernie took it gently from her palm. Such a sweet dog. She’d miss—
What?
The thought just whipped through her, like a cold breeze. Maybe someone needed to inform her brain that her heart had decided to stay.
She returned to the living room. “Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all.” Kennedy gestured to the sofa. “Insomnia loves company. It’s better than old reruns ofFriends.”
“Maybe,” Harley said. She settled on the sofa and then patted the cushion. Orlando looked at her.
Kennedy chuckled. “Oh, don’t tell Hudson.”
“Really?”
