“I think you do too.”
His fingers touched my hair.
The contact was so light I could have imagined it.
I did not move.
Noah’s hand settled at the back of my head.
The gesture echoed the dream, reversed.
“Reid.”
“Yes?”
“Sing the song.”
I looked over my shoulder.
His eye remained closed.
“You said I sing it badly.”
“I want to check.”
I found the song on my phone and lowered the volume.
The guitar filled the apartment.
When the chorus approached, I deliberately entered too early.
Noah smiled without opening his eye.
“There.”
“What?”
“That.”
His fingers moved once through my hair.
“I knew you would.”
My throat tightened.
“Go to sleep.”
“Stay.”
“I’m staying.”
“All night?”
“If that’s what you want.”
His hand relaxed.
A few minutes later, he slept.
