I’ll just lie down for a minute, I tell myself. Just to rest my eyes.
The mattress dips under my weight as I slide beneath the soft, warm covers. I roll onto my side, pull the blanket up to my chin, and close my eyes.
Just for a minute…
***
When I open my eyes again, the room is dimmer, evening shadows stretching across the floor. I grab my phone from the nightstand and squint at the screen. I’ve been out for nearly two hours, but thank God I didn’t oversleep completely. Mom told us to be at the Main Cottage for Dad’s birthday dinner in an hour, which still gives me time to properly wake up and get ready.
I roll over, stretching, and freeze when I realize I’m not alone.
Connor is lying beside me, eyes closed, his breathing deep and even. He must have come in while I was asleep and decided to nap too.
He’s on his side, facing me, one arm tucked under his pillow. His face is softer in sleep, the usual guard he keeps up gone. A strand of hair has fallen across his forehead, and I have to physically stop myself from reaching out to brush it back.
How did we get here?
Not just in this bed, but in this whole situation. Two days ago, Connor was just my neighbor—the hot Irish guy across the hall, so far out of my league I didn’t even let myself properly fantasize about him. And now…
Now we’ve kissed. Multiple times.
Not that it necessarily means anything, because it was mostly for show. Mostly.
And now he’s here. Breathing quietly beside me, warm under the covers, close enough that if I moved just a little, my knee would brush his.
I’m still staring at him like a total creep when his eyelids flutter. A second later, his eyes open, unfocused at first, then slowly finding mine.
He blinks once. Twice.
Then he smiles, slow and unguarded, and my heart stutters.
“Hey,” he says, his voice rough with sleep.
“Hey,” I whisper back, because speaking any louder might break this fragile moment.
Neither of us moves. We just lie there, facing each other, close enough that I can feel his breath against my face. It should be awkward. It should be weird. But in the fading light of the room, it feels almost intimate.
“Sleep well?” Connor asks, and the domesticity of the question makes my chest ache.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling despite myself. “You?”
He nods, shifting slightly to stretch, but still not pulling away. “Too well.”
For a moment, that’s all there is. His sleepy eyes on mine. The warmth of him under the covers. The strange, impossible ease of being here with him like this.
I should look away before I make it weird.
I don’t. Neither does he.
“Can I ask you something?” Connor says after a long moment, his voice still soft.
“Sure,” I say, my heart picking up for some reason.
Connor watches me for another second. “You don’t have to tell me…but what did Rick say to you? In the woods?”
I blink at him, a little thrown by the question. I knew he’d ask eventually. He wanted to earlier—I could tell—but he didn’t push. Somehow, that makes it harder to answer now. Not because I don’t want to tell him, but because saying it out loud makes it feel even more humiliating.
“It’s nothing,” I say, trying for a shrug. “He invited me to their wedding. Said it would mean a lot to him if I was his best man.”
