Life continued.
The world didn't stop simply because I'd had one unexpectedly perfect night.
Coffee mug in hand, I returned to the couch and reached automatically for the blanket draped across the armrest. The fleece was soft from years of use, and I pulled it over my lap. A moment later, I grabbed the nearest pillow and tucked it against my side before opening the novel I'd been halfway through for nearly two weeks.
I managed exactly four pages before the words began to blur together.
Every few paragraphs, I caught myself rereading the same sentence because my attention had drifted somewhere else entirely. One minute, I was supposed to be following the plot. The next, I was remembering the way Thane laughed or the warmth of his hand against the small of my back.
Eventually, I gave up.
I slid the book onto the coffee table. I settled deeper into the cushions. And despite everything I'd told myself that morning, the last thought I had before falling asleep was about Thane.
SIX
KIERAN
The first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes was that my coffee had gone cold.
I stared at the mug sitting on the coffee table for several seconds, trying to remember why I'd made it in the first place. Then the stiffness in my neck registered, followed by the blanket tangled around my legs and the pillow tucked awkwardly beneath one arm.
Right.
I'd fallen asleep on the couch.
The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator. Pale winter light filtered through the window, telling me it was still somewhere between morning and afternoon. I checked the time on my phone and discovered I'd been asleep for a little over two hours.
For a few moments, I remained where I was, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about the reason I'd fallen asleep in the first place. Unfortunately, avoiding thoughts of Thane was becoming increasingly difficult.
The attempt lasted less than thirty seconds. With a sigh, I pushed myself upright and headed into the kitchen. My stomach immediately reminded me that coffee did not qualify as breakfast. Or lunch.
The previous evening suddenly replayed itself with embarrassing clarity. The fries Thane had practically bullied me into eating. Birthday cake. Whiskey sour. More conversation than food after that.
I opened the refrigerator and studied the contents. The refrigerator studied me back. Neither of us seemed impressed.
Eventually, I settled for making a grilled cheese sandwich and heating a can of tomato soup. It wasn't exciting, but it was warm, cheap, and already in the apartment, which made it considerably more appealing than spending money I didn't need to spend.
By the time I finished eating, the restless feeling I'd been trying to ignore had only grown stronger.
Maybe it was cabin fever. A walk would do me good. At least, that was the excuse I settled on. The truth was a little harder to admit. Maybe I was being ridiculous.
Actually, I was definitely being ridiculous. That didn't stop me from pulling on my jacket.
The walk downtown gave me too much time to think. Christmas decorations hung from storefronts and lampposts, and shoppers moved from store to store carrying bags and takeaway coffee cups. Everywhere I looked, people seemed to be preparing for something.
I'd never really known what to do with this holiday.
I didn't dislike it. I liked the lights. I liked some of the music well enough. But there was always a difference between enjoying the season and belonging to it, and most years I felt as though I was standing on the outside looking in.
Today, though, the decorations barely registered. My thoughts kept circling back to the same dark-haired hockey player. I wasn't planning to go back to the bar. At least, that was the story I told myself as I headed downtown.
The fact that my route happened to take me along the same street was apparently a coincidence. The fact that I was already thinking about whether Thane might be there if I happened to walk past was something I chose not to examine too closely.
The lie held together reasonably well for almost twenty minutes.
Then I noticed an unusual amount of foot traffic heading toward the sports bar Thane and I had walked past the night before.
People were slipping through the front doors faster than they were coming out. A few slowed near the windows before continuing inside, as though something had caught their attention. Whatever was happening seemed important enough that it kept pulling more people in.
