We go back to the city and pretend none of this happened? We hook up occasionally? We try to date for real?
The possibilities make my head spin.
And, to be fair, I would agree to either of the last two options.
If he wanted that.
I finish showering in record time, painfully aware of how late I am and how much of the day I’ve already wasted. I wrap a towel around my waist and step back into the bedroom, still dripping.
I freeze in the doorway.
Connor is sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone.
He glances up when I appear, and the smile that spreads across his face is enough to make my knees weak. He seems annoyingly fresh, with no trace of a hangover, wearing a simple white T-shirt and dark joggers that make his thighs look like they were sculpted by Michelangelo himself.
“Morning,” he says, his voice warm with amusement, no trace of regret or awkwardness—thank God. He checks the time on his phone. “Or should I say afternoon?” His eyes do a quick sweep from my face down to my towel-covered hips and back up again, so fast it looks like a slip.
“I—” My voice catches in my throat. I’m suddenly very aware that I’m half naked, water still beading on my skin. Heat climbs up my neck, burning my cheeks. “I overslept.”
Connor nods. “I tried to wake you earlier, but you just mumbled something about five more minutes and rolled over.”
“Oh.” I try to remember this and come up empty. “Sorry.”
Connor puts his phone away and stands, closing the distance between us in two long strides. My heart skips, then starts racing as he stops just inches away. He’s so close I can smell his shaving cream and the faint trace of his cologne. His eyes look so impossibly blue in the afternoon light that I can’t look away.
“Don’t be,” he says softly, lifting one hand to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “I know by now that you love sleeping.”
And then he kisses me.
Jesus Mary and Joseph, the second our lips touch, my heart starts pounding so loudly in my ears that it feels like I’m about to have a heart attack. His mouth moves against mine with careful focus, like he’s savoring the taste of me. My knees actually wobble, and I have to grab his shoulders to stay upright.
To my utter disappointment, the kiss ends too fast.
When Connor pulls back, my lips chase his for a split second before I catch myself. His eyes are dark, his pupils blownwide, and there’s a flush high on his cheekbones that makes my stomach flip.
“Hi,” I whisper, because apparently my brain has forgotten how to form actual sentences.
“Hi,” he echoes, his hand still warm against my cheek.
We stare at each other for a long moment, and I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a precipice, like the next words out of either of our mouths might send me tumbling over.
“I—um—I don’t usually sleep this late,” I say finally, then immediately want to kick myself, because of all the things I could have said after that kiss, that’s what came out.
But Connor just chuckles, his thumb tracing the curve of my jaw. “You’ve been sleeping a lot this weekend,” he says. “Do you usually have trouble sleeping or something?”
The question catches me off guard with how painfully accurate it is.
“Yeah, actually,” I admit. “I mean, I sleep, but…not well. Not usually this deeply.”
Something shifts in Connor’s expression, a softness around his eyes, a slight curve at the corner of his mouth.
“That’s good, then,” he says. “That you’re sleeping well here.”
I freeze, wondering if he’s figured it out—if he knows I’ve only been sleeping this well because he’s been beside me.
I can’t tell, so I clear my throat and take a small step back, needing a second to get my thoughts in order. “Have you been up long? Did you have breakfast already?”
“I had coffee with your family,” Connor says, crossing his arms over his chest like he didn’t just scorch my entire nervous system with that kiss. “Maya came by around eleven to get us, but you were too out of it to wake up, so I went with her to the Main Cottage. Your parents were having brunch out on the deck, and I sat with them for a while.”
