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“Charles is like that,” she said. “And you still have him.”

Grayson nodded. The conversation slowed, and Lucy picked up her book again, though she was feeling tired and they ought to have gone to sleep.

But she didn’t want to say good night.

It was funny. She spent all day with him nearly every day, but she still didn’t want this night to end.

They read for a little while longer, until the last of the embers from the fire died out and she yawned.

“We should sleep,” he said, closing his book. “You can have the daybed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Before she could respond, he walked over to the daybed, grabbing the throw blanket. She followed, watching as he spread the blanket on the floor and added a pillow.

Maybe this was best, she told herself. He took off his shoes and socks, and she did the same, though she took off her leggings as well, and did a spell to get rid of her bra. His eyes widened, even though her oversized sweater was more than modest.

He quickly looked away, neck red, and her pulse raced. She felt nervous all of a sudden.

She got on the bed, watching as he lay down on the floor, his knees cracking. “Should I turn the lights off?”

“Mm-hmm.”

With a snap of her fingers, the lights turned off, enclosing them in darkness. Light from the snow shone through the front windows, so it wasn’t completely dark. She lay down under the blanket, watching as Grayson shuffled on the floor, groaning.

Her heart raced as she had a thought. “I’m sure there’s room for us both,” she said, voice high. He turned his head, looking at her. His throat moved as he swallowed.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice rough.

“It’s fine, really.” She turned her tone teasing as she said, “You’re too old to sleep on the floor, anyway. It’ll fuck up your back forever.”

He laughed, relaxing a little. “My back is already screwed up—the life of an academic.”

“Well, don’t ruin it further, then.”

He paused, and she waited, her blood pounding loudly in her ears. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

She moved over on the bed, making room for him. She listened as he stood and walked over, every step making her heart thud louder in her chest. Clearing his throat, he got under the blanket, his leg bumping against hers.

“Do you have enough room?” he asked, voice quiet.

“Yes,” she replied, staring up at the ceiling, trying not to look at him. Her body thrilled at having him so close, even if he was fully clothed; she inhaled the scent of his cologne, the lingering fire smoke on his skin.

He was lying on his side, facing away from her, and she turned in the opposite direction so her back was to him.

“Good night,” he whispered.

“Good night,” she whispered back.

But she was wide awake. Every part of her was hyperaware of his body beside hers, and she could feel the tension radiating off him.

Slowly, they both shuffled onto their backs and, a moment later, turned to face each other, somehow moving in sync, as if drawn together like magnets helpless against an invisible force.

The daybed was tiny, but not tiny enough. She wanted to touch every inch of him, to feel him along her entire body. She shifted closer to find that he was already nearer than before, a whisper away.

In the dark, it didn’t feel like she hated him. He was so warm and alive beside her, just a man, and she was just a woman. She would let him do whatever he wanted to her, do the same in return. Her body vibrated in anticipation at the thought. She reached for him just as he reached for her.

Her hand settled on his arm, while his settled on her waist.