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Fergus just watches me, and the cold anger in his eyes terrifies me, maybe because I am so vulnerable right now.
“Dominic left right after you did so I just came to make sure you were safe. When I found you, I decided to take you to your house. There was no need to take you to the hospital because you didn’t finish your drink. You just need to sleep it off.”
I swallow and nod.
When he doesn’t move from his seat, I hesitate. “Are you going to stay here?”
His light blue eyes don’t waver from mine. “I can leave if you want me to.”
But I don’t.
Maybe it is the haziness talking, but his presence makes me feel safe.
It doesn’t make sense.
This man is essentially a stranger to me. But I don’t want him to go.
“Is it weird that I want you to stay?”
I am slurring now as my brain decides it is time to shut down.
Fergus gets up and pushes me easily back into a lying position, pulling the covers to my chin, a gentle expression on his face. “Just as weird as me wanting to stay here and watch over you. Now, sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”
He turns off the light and switches on the night light. The room is instantly bathed in a soft yellow glow, a dim light that is easy on the eyes.
I find myself drifting off, and my words are a soft whisper, “Thank you for staying.”
If he says something in response, I don’t hear it because I’ve already succumbed to the inviting darkness of sleep.
The next time I open my eyes, I am more aware of my surroundings.
Dragging myself into a sitting position, I run my hands over my face and then look around.
The armchair is in its usual place.
There is no sign of anyone having been there.
Did I imagine the whole thing?
Through the blinds, I see that the sun is up.
What time is it?
A quick glance at my digital clock tells me that I am beyond late for work. There is no use going there now, at noon.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I scrunch my nose up at my clothes. I am still wearing my clothes from last night.
I glance at the chair.
Was Fergus really here?
Despite my desperation to take a bath, I pad over to the half-ajar door, and as I open it, the smell of eggs and bacon assaults my nose, making my mouth water.
Unable to identify this feeling that courses through my body, I make my way to the kitchen and stare at the tall, broad-shouldered man who stands in my kitchen with such ease.
“You can cook?”
My voice is hoarse, and he simply turns around and hands me a glass of water. “Have this first.”
