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Apparently, that is all the encouragement Callum Fox requires.

Much later, he falls asleep with one arm around my waist and his face tucked against the back of my neck.

I lie awake for several minutes, listening to him breathe.

One night was supposed to get him out of my system.

Instead, it appears I’ve let him move in.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Bea

Iwake up before my alarm, which never happens.

I don’t know why, and then I do, because the other side of my bed is warm in a way it wasn’t yesterday morning and there’s a dent in the pillow that isn’t mine, and I lie very still looking at the ceiling while my brain catches up with the rest of me.

Callum Fox slept in my bed.

I turn my head. He’s gone.

It’s ten past seven. His side of the bed is cold enough that he’s been gone a while. I stare at the empty pillow longer than I should. He left early, maybe that’s just his deal. He’s a freakin’ superstar. I’m probably one of hundreds of women who he has spent a night with.

I sit up to rouse myself from that particular thought spiral. That won’t help me one bit tonight.

I am not doing this. I am a scientist. I deal in evidence, and I know how stupid it is to make assumptions. I am going to get up and make coffee and not jump to any conclusions.

I pull on my biggest sweater and yesterday’s jeans. In the bathroom, I make the mistake of looking in the mirror. I look like someone who didn’t get a lot of sleep for extremely good reasons. My hair is quite literally everywhere.

I splash cold water on my face and go downstairs.

* * *

To my relief, the kitchen is empty. I’m 99% sure the girls will have heard us last night and I’m going to face some questions this morning.

I’m aware this is not my most rational morning. The thing is, I know his reputation. He’s not exactly known for settling down or staying the night. Plus, we never discussed anything of the sort. But still, a part of me wishes that I’d woken up in his arms and we could’ve maybe continued what we were doing last night…

The kettle clicks.

I make coffee. Wrapping my hands around the mug, I stare at the window when my phone buzzes. I don’t exactly grab it immediately. I wait two full seconds, the most self-control I’ve demonstrated in the last few weeks, and then I pick it up.

Cal

I had a fucking incredible time last night Bea

sorry for the early exit. I didn’t want to face your roommates and I had a call to take.

Something unknots in my chest so fast it’s almost embarrassing—this immediate, cellular relief. I’d been bracing for a different kind of message, one that started with hey and ended with ‘see ya around’. I am standing in my kitchen at seven-twenty in the morning, and I am grinning at a text message like a teenager.

Cal

also I took a truffle. I win.

I laugh. Out loud, alone. It comes out slightly unhinged.

Bea

you took my chocolate?!