When I woke up, everything was warm.
Not the kind of warmth that came from a comforter or the sun through the curtains — no. This wasdifferent. This was warm, like breath against my hair. Like a heartbeat against my cheek.
Like arms.
I didn’t open my eyes right away. I didn’t want to break it.
I was still curled on the floor, but I wasn’t alone. Sometime in the middle of the night, he must’ve slipped down beside me. Because I was wrapped up in Ansel. With one arm tucked around my waist, his palm spread against my stomach. My back pulled against his chest. His breath slow and steady at the curve of my neck.
And I was — God. I washeld.
There were no spaces between us. Nothing but the thin barrier of the hoodie and his boxers. His legs tangled with mine. Pressed against me like he could shield me from everything — nightmares, cold, the entire damn world.
And maybe the worst part?
Hehad.
Somewhere in the night, without asking, without meaning to, Ansel had become safe. Not just safe — somethingmore.
I opened my eyes. The living room was cast in the first light of dawn, gold and pale and quiet. My phone buzzed weakly under the couch. The world was waking up.
But I couldn’t move.
I didn’twantto move.
Because if I did, this would end. If I shifted even a little, he might remember what we werepretendingto be. And I couldn’t face the space that would come next.
So I stayed. One more minute. Just one more. Let myselfbreathe him in. Cedar. Vanilla. Leather andsafety. The sound of his breath, the press of his chest, the way his arm tightened when I shifted just a little.
And then —
His voice. Rough and sleep-drunk. Low enough to kill me. “You’re still here,” he murmured.
I froze.
His hand flexed once against my stomach, then settled again. “Didn’t think you would be.”
“I… didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
He let out a breath. Alaugh, but not really. “I’m glad you did.”
And I didn’t answer. My mouth was full of words I couldn’t say. Of wishes I didn’t have permission to make.
So I just lay there. In his arms. Teetering on the precipice of something I just couldn’t name. Something I was unwilling to speak into the air around me.
And Ansel didn’t let go.
CHAPTER 30
The first thing I noticed was the pain.
My back was a war zone. My neck was worse. One leg was half-numb, my arm was pinned, and something sharp was definitely lodged under my shoulder blade. Hardwood floors werenotbuilt for men in their late thirties, no matter how stupidly romantic the reason.
I groaned — barely — the sound small and low. My other arm shifted instinctively, pulling her in closer.
Her.
Juniper.
