Then my eyes drop to the floor.
Crumpled, shiny wrappers scattered across the carpet like a trail of gold breadcrumbs. My eyes follow them up to the nightstand. The chocolate box. One truffle left in its paper cup. The lid is propped against the lamp, the inside printed with cheerful cursive.
I pick it up.
Goodnight Wellness Truffles. 60% cacao infused with CBD, valerian root & melatonin. Eat, brush your teeth, then sleep like a baby! Part of our complimentary Care Package.
I read it twice.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”
“What?” Ash leans over, looking at the card. “... Luna. Did you use sedatives as foreplay?”
“I—” My voice climbs. “I’m so sorry! This is the most mortifying—”
“Just kidding.” His laugh is a low rumble. He leans closer, the amusement slipping from his eyes, replaced by that dark, heavy gaze from last night. Close enough that his scent brushes my face. “You really do wind up easy, huh?”
My chest tightens, lips parting. His eyes drop to my mouth. He is right there, and gravity is pulling toward him, and—
BANG BANG BANG.
“Luna!”
I flinch.
BANG BANG BANG.
“Luna, you up? Rehearsal lunch starts in two hours and we’re supposed to arrive before the guests!”
Derek.
The blood drains from my face. I look at Ash. He’s frowning, looking at the door, then back at me.
“Who’s that?” he asks, his voice dropping.
“You have to go,” I say, scanning the floor. “I’m so sorry, you have to goright now.”
“Luna—”
“Please.” I grab his crumpled (and destroyed) white shirt, shoving it into his chest. He scrambles up, pulling his pants up as I herd him toward the French doors at the back of the room.
“Through there,” I hiss, unlocking the latch. “The garden leads out to the lawn. Go, go, go.”
His jaw is open, eyebrows shot up as he buttons his fly on the move.
“Wait, is the guy at the door your boyfriend?” He stops, looking down at me, his face tight.
“He’s not. It’s... it’s a long story. He’s not my boyfriend. I promise.”
BANG BANG BANG.
“Luna, I know you’re in there!” Derek’s voice is louder, sharper. The handle rattles.
“Please,” I whisper, pressing my hands together. “Can you please just go? I wish I could explain, but—”
“Okay,” Ash says, holding up his hands, his expression softening. “Okay, fine.”
He slips into his shirt, the missing buttons leaving his chest half-exposed. Then, he stops at the garden door, hand on the latch, and turns back.
