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The pressure of his hand increased as it coasted back up over my shoulder, and that was where it came to rest, the blunt edges of his fingertips tangling with my hair.
“I’m not talking about what anyone else would’ve done. I’m talking about what you did for Anya. And me.” He shifted his weight, and I finally got a clearer look at his eyes. He wasn’t looking at his hand; he was looking at me. “Thank you, Isabel. I need you to hear me say that.”
I’d never had anyone look at me like Aiden was, and I had no clue what to make of it.
This wasn’t reality, this tiny moment in his bedroom. And if I thought too hard about how little we knew about each other, I’d question my sanity. But he was looking at me like I was unexpected, and he wasn’t sure how to handle me the right way. Aiden was looking at me like I belonged in his home, in his bed, and he just might be okay with that.
I let out a shaky breath. “You’re welcome.”
“What’s your favorite food?” he asked suddenly.
I blinked at the change in topic, the change in tone. It was the only reason I answered honestly. “Strawberry Pop-Tarts.”
Now it was Aiden’s turn to blink. “No, it’s not.”
“You don’t get to argue with me about it.”
“No one’s favorite food is Pop-Tarts after the age of seven.”
“Well, mine is,” I said indignantly. “They’re delicious, and maybe you just haven’t had one in a long time so you don’t remember.”
The smile that spread over his face was warm, and it made me all gooey inside, and I pressed my now-hot face back into the pillow that smelled like him. His warm smile turned into a low, amused chuckle.
“I had no idea you were this judgmental,” I teased. “You better tell me your favorite food now.”
“You’re very demanding when you wake up.”
That was because my filter was gone. That process had been a slow one, pushing through embarrassment, pushing through the first unsteady weeks, then the tiptoeing into a more balanced relationship. He didn’t even realize that this was me, wide open.
But I did. And that was why it mattered, these quiet moments.
“Cranberry juice?” I asked.
He laughed, eyes tracing my features. “Getting warmer.”
I had to bury my face into his pillow to hide my pleased smile.
Aiden moved from a crouching position to sitting on the floor, his back braced against the nightstand, and he turned his head to face me. I tucked my good hand up under the pillow and imagined that this was just … normal. The two of us trading whispered questions in bed. He grimaced, sending a glare over his shoulder at the table.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing. Just the handle digging into my back.” His eyes traced my face. “I’m too old to be sitting in places like this.”
I pulled in a deep breath and decided not to weigh the wisdom of what was about to come out of my mouth. “You can lay up here,” I whispered. “On top of the blanket,” I rushed to add when his gaze sharpened.
After a weighty silence, Aiden finally answered. “You know I can’t.”
My lips pursed thoughtfully. “What if I draw an invisible line you’re not allowed to cross?”
His eyelids fell closed, his chest rose and fell on a slow, steady inhale and exhale. “You are dangerous to my mental health, Isabel Ward.”
I smiled even though he couldn’t see me. I liked knowing that. I liked that he’d said it out loud. Maybe Aiden was just as aware that this wasn’t reality, and we were allowed to make whispered admissions that might never see the light of day.
There were a million things I could’ve said to him, could’ve told him, in this last conversation of our long, sleepless night together. Things no one knew about me, or things I wanted him to know about me. But I kept all those words inside because somehow, I knew this wasn’t the time.
When Aiden opened his eyes and studied me, he seemed to be pondering the same depth of thoughts, judging by the thoughtful look on his face.
“It would confuse Anya,” he said after a few seconds. My eyebrows lowered. “If she walked in here,” Aiden explained.
