Page 41 of The Key Holder

I let out a deep breath, nestling against him.

"It's not pretty, but it'll hold for now. I’ll make a few calls in the morning and we’ll start getting it fixed.”

“Okay.”

I imagined him up there, shirtless and wet, like a movie star in a disaster film. He smelled so good, and his fingers were in my hair.

I could get used to this. This was nice.

“Sleep tight, Dylan.”

Without thinking, I said, “I love you, Ford.”

“Love you too.”

Mmmm.

10

Ford

The morning after the storm led to a grim assessment, even though the rain had weakened to a mere drizzle and the sun was already attempting to pierce through the lingering clouds.

We still had no power, and Dylan’s bedroom was a disaster.

I texted Melissa, telling her what happened and asked if it was still the same insurance company. It was better to get the ball rolling as soon as possible.

The room was bathed in an eerie blue light because of the tarps covering the jagged maw in the ceiling. His bed was a mangled mess and directly beneath the point of impact. The large branch sat there like a monument to the storm’s fury. Below where there used to be a window, shards of glass glittered on the floor amidst bits of insulation and shingles. The only positive was that the tarp had held through the night, and the water damage—to the room, at least—seemed to be minimal.

"Well," Dylan said, his voice quiet. "At least it was just my room."

I nodded, carefully nudging a broken lamp to the side. "And not you, thank God. This was way too close."

“At least you were there for me.”

Thank God for that, too.

Dylan said he needed the distraction and since the pain in his arm was manageable—his words—after a small, cold, breakfast, we spent the better part of the morning sifting through the debris. Our main priority was collecting his belongings out of the room before any more storms decided to test my hastily-stapled tarps.

“Should we just pile it in the hallway?” Dylan asked.

“Yeah, for now. I can bring it up to my room later.”

“Your room?” Dylan stopped what he was doing and stared at me.

I shrugged. “Yeah.”

Dylan ran his fingers through his hair, then put his hand on his hip. "So…we just keep sleeping in your bed?"

“I mean, if you want to.”

“Yes!” Something unreadable flickered in his eyes before he glanced away.

"Unless you'd rather sleep on the couch," I added.

His response was immediate. “No! Your bed’s fine. It’s…comfortable.”

His cheeks grew pinker by the second and it made my stomach flip, but just like that, the decision was made.