She stares at me, her face softening.
“Thanks,” she whispers. Her cheeks turn pink, and her lips part slightly.
No one has ever looked like they belonged in my space before. And that thought terrifies me almost as much as it heals me.
Peyton brushes her teeth beside me a few minutes later while I stand at the other sink pretending I’m functioning normally.
I’m not. Not even close.
Every small thing tonight feels unbearably intimate. Her shampoo filling the bathroom. Her bare foot brushing mine accidentally. Her sleepy little yawn.
“Tired?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah. I think I’m going to go to bed.”
I nod.
She moves closer and gently brushes her lips against my cheek. “Nite.”
When she pulls back and starts to turn, I grab her wrist. She looks over her shoulder at me in surprise.
“Come upstairs with me.”
She blinks a few times, like she’s having trouble comprehending my words. I give her a soft smile, tugging her toward the stairs.
When we step into the loft, Peyton’s face is full of wonder. She pauses near the bed, her eyes drifting around slowly, taking in everything. The dark wooden beams. The oversized bed. The low lighting. The chair shoved near the window where I usually sit after nightmares.
A strange tension crawls through my chest. Because this space has always been mine alone.
No hookups. No women. Nobody.
Just me and the ghosts in my head.
Peyton glances back at me carefully. “You okay?”
I lean against the dresser, then force myself to tell her the truth. “No one’s ever been up here before.”
Her expression shifts. She looks … honored.
It wrecks me a little.
“You mean in the loft?”
I nod once.
“In the bed, either.”
Silence settles softly between us.
Peyton steps closer, like she understands the weight behind what I’m admitting.
“This is your safe place,” she says quietly.
I laugh once without humor. “Safe-ish.”
Her brows pull together slightly.
I drag a hand through my hair before looking away. “It’s also where the nightmares happen.”
