Page 24 of Safe Place

I point sharply toward the guest room and gesture for silence. “Go,” I mouth.

They obey—barely—and go quietly toward the room.

Once the door’s closed behind us, I glare at them. “Shut up.”

“You have that girl asleep on your couch, and you're telling us to shut up?” Wyatt says.

“Her name is Sophie,” I correct like my mouth has a mind of its own.

“Oh my God. You’re actually in love with her,” Grant adds, grinning like he just won a bet.

“I’m not in love with her,” I mutter. “I think she had a shitty day. So I offered her food but she fell asleep.”

“You brought her to your house because you thought she had a shitty day and then you bought her food?” Wyatt says flatly. “Never knew you were such an empath.”

“And then you covered her with a blanket,” Grant adds, as he goes to lie on the bed like it’s his. “That’s some domestic shit, man.”

“Fuck off,” I grumble, but I don’t deny it.

Grant laughs. “I’m starting to feel like I should crash at my own place more often. Give these lovebirds some space.”

“You could’ve done that from day one,” I shoot back. “Why are you always here anyway?”

Grant shrugs. “I told you. The view’s better from here.”

“Can we go and chill in your bedroom? Why is it so cold here?” Wyatt adds.

“My room is off-limits,” I warn them as Wyatt starts eyeing the hallway. “It’s my sanctuary. No one pollutes the air in there but me.”

Grant snorts. “Yeah, yeah. You can act all tough now, but the second Soph wakes up and asks for water, you’re gonna be halfway to Fiji bottling it from a spring.”

I don’t answer. I just lean back against the wall, arms crossed, staring at the closed door to the living room.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I say quietly. “She’s just in my head. All the time.”

Grant starts humming the song “L-O–V-E”. Asshole.

SOPHIE

I’m floating. That's the only way to describe it—like lying on a soft cloud, warm and weightless. Something cozy is draped over me, and when I shift slightly, the fabric rustles. The cloud dissolves as my eyes adjust. Disoriented, I push myself up. Where am I?

A soft throw blanket slips off my shoulder. That’s when it hits me. Micah’s penthouse. I must’ve fallen asleep. I sit up, trying to recall what happened. The parole letter. Carter. The ride. Food.

Food. Oh God. Micah was going down to grab the food.

Behind me, I hear the faint tearing of paper. “Sorry,” Micah says. “Did I wake you?”

I turn and see him across the room, unwrapping a burger. “I wanted to wait until you woke up, but I was getting kind of hungry.”

I stare at him in horror. “What time is it?”

“A little after eight. You’ve been out for a while. You must’ve been exhausted.”

I shoot up. “I have work at the cafe. My shift—shit—I was supposed to be there at six.”

I scramble for my bag and shoes, panic surging through me.

“Hey, hey, slow down,” Micah says, stepping in front of me. “You need to eat something.”