Was I breathing heavily?
“Just to be clear,” I said, ignoring the vibrating feeling beneath my skin, “this doesn’t mean we are friends. I’m just using you as an oversized hot water bottle.”
“Mmm,” he made a throaty sound that tickled my neck. “That’s okay. I’m not sure I can be your friend, anyway.”
I held my breath. Instead of asking him to clarify, I watched the flames flicker. Neither of us spoke another word that night.
Chapter Sixteen
Nothing says you’re fancy quite like having an assistant.
Doc Martens will keep you from making a fool of yourself.
I may have broken my ass.
I woke disoriented. Blinking against bright light. A thick blanket of snow had swallowed up the forest.
The fire had died during the night. But I hadn’t felt the cold. In fact, I didn’t feel it now, either. I turned, stiffly and came eye to eye (literally) with dark lashes.
John’s face was relaxed, his mouth slightly parting on each exhale. His forehead was smooth where usually a tense line sat. Dark curls hung over his brow. His body was wrapped around me, the weight more comforting than I liked to admit.
I didn’t sleep at people’s places, nor did I ever let anyone sleep at mine. Apart from Otis, but that didn’t count. The first moments when you wake, you’re at your most vulnerable. You let the other person see you fully unguarded. No time to hide.
Last night’s conversation came back to me. The few real-John snippets he’d shared. Like a trailer from a movie that I— for some weird reason— was now dying to see. It was all… confusing. And my body felt warm… maybe even too warm.
The heating had sprung back on.
Careful not to wake John, I pushed his legs off mine.
Peeling off two layers of clothing on the way, I ran upstairs and threw myself at my laptop.
Thank fuck. The internet was back on.
The first email in my inbox was from Charlene. They had received the file, and she asked if we got home safely.
It had gone through. Everything else now lay outside of my power.
My phone was filled with messages from Otis, all a different variation of:
Are you dead?
Is it terribly sexy being snowed in?
By the time I came back downstairs, John was standing in the kitchen, setting down two steaming mugs of black, punchy wake-up calls on the rustic island.
It felt odd, being on the other side of the night. Knowing we’d have to share a car. That he’d see where I lived. Me carrying the knowledge that his engagement was a PR game. The power dynamic had shifted. I just didn’t know how, yet.
“Good morning, Sunshine.”
“He lives,” I said, taking one of the cups.
“So sorry to disappoint.” His voice was thick and sleep-laden. He leaned against the counter on the other side of the island, keeping a physical distance between us. His hand brushed through his hair, the curls immediately falling in that sophisticated I-couldn’t-recreate-that-if-I-tried way. He lookedeven more handsome slightly disheveled and blurry-eyed. The tilt of his mouth, the slightly raised brow—it could snatch a girl's heart. What kind of black magic was this? Well, whatever it was, I needed a counterspell.
“You look happy,” he said, taking a sip. John pulled me out of my thoughts.
“The manuscript went through in time. You won’t get rid of me this easily.”
“I’m heartbroken.” He placed the cup back on the counter and looked around the room. “Have you seen my phone?”
