Her brow furrows. “Why is it a shorter day?”
“Friday nights in Blue Crescent Harbor in the fall are all about football. The Bobcats, the high school team, have a home game. The entire town shuts down early to prepare.”
I pause, then add, “I’m going. Do you want to come?”
“I’m not into sports.” She wrinkles her nose. “But if you think it’ll be good for us to be seen together… then sure.”
For inexplicable reasons, that reply stings.
“It’s not mandatory,” I say, sounding too testy and not in the least cool. “But it’s fun. Everyone goes, and there’s an informal tailgate party before the game.”
She studies me, perhaps sensing the shift in my mood. “Okay. Sure then.” She beams at me. “But don’t get annoyed with me if I ask a million questions because I don’t understand what’s going on.”
That smile is a precise hit to the chest. A sudden, sharp stitch, like when you run too fast in cold air and can’t breathe.
“Deal,” I rasp.
“I’m going to head up. Book club is surprisingly draining.”
I nod. “I’ll be up soon.”
She waves over her shoulder, a casual, domestic gesture that feels too natural, too real.
When I make it to bed an hour later, she’s already asleep, curled on her side, breathing deep and even. The lamp on her nightstand is still on, a book splayed open on the covers beside her. I close it, slipping a bookmark in, and turn off the light.
I slide under my separate comforter, keeping to my side of the bed as promised. Despite the exhaustion of the day, sleep evades me. I’m too aware of her presence, of the soft sounds of her breathing, of the faint scent of her shampoo on the pillow next to mine.
The last thought I have before drifting off is that tomorrow, I’ll wake up like I did today and the day before, with my nose in her hair, my arm wrapped over her waist, spooning her. And likeevery other morning so far, I’ll cowardly scoot to my side, and she’ll chase me, snuggling against me without waking.
And when she does wake up, I’ll let her believe she’s the snuggle bear because it’s better than the alternative: admitting how much my body craves hers.
That’s what happens the next morning. I blink awake with my face buried in her curls, her warm body tucked against mine.
This time, I don’t just scoot away. I roll out of bed completely. I stand by the side, heart hammering, looking down at her. She shifts in her sleep, sleepily searching for me. And when she doesn’t find me, she pulls my pillow into her arms and hugs it tight.
I force myself to turn away. I have an early morning. She doesn’t need to wake up yet.
I shower quietly in the en suite and dress in the walk-in closet. I go downstairs and have breakfast alone; the silence is back, but with her upstairs it doesn’t bother me.
Before I leave, I see the note on the fridge again. I erase her message from last night and write a new one, the marker squeaking against the glossy surface of the board:
Why do you use kids’ toothpaste?
Hours later, when I return home, I find her reply waiting for me:
I like the strawberry taste.
And fuck, now I’m going to be thinking nonstop about whether she, too, would taste of strawberries if I kissed her.
24
PEYTON
Friday afternoon, I’m in the living room, smoothing my hands down the navy Bobcats sweatshirt Liam bought for me. I’m cosplaying as aFriday Night Lightsenthusiast. The number of things I’m faking keeps piling up.
Despite that, today was a good day. We went to the office together, and I clicked with his team. Everyone was sharp yet welcoming, and the work was interesting. By lunchtime, I’d sketched out a preliminary framework for the regional metrics dashboard and discussed inventory optimization models with the VP of Operations.
And Liam… He didn’t hover or micromanage. He introduced me, gave me space to ask questions, and only observed, letting me find my footing.
