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I stumble outside, but the ground shifts weirdly under my feet and I have to grab the car’s door to steady myself.
“Are you okay?” Massi is by my side immediately.
I giggle. “I had a headache. I think I took too many painkillers. Is Seb inside?”
“Yes, I waited for you. Why are you smiling?”
“You’re so handsome.” I grin, my brain floating in my head, rational thought gone. Or not. I don’t know. I’m sleepy.
“Okay, you definitely took too many. Let me help you in.” He hoists me into his arms and I sigh, content.
I tilt my head, the muscles of his chest hard and yet the softest pillow. I close my eyes, engulfed by the scent of him. He’s wearing a soft T-shirt. It’s the softest fabric I’ve ever touched. So soft. Soft.
My back slumps into another softness. “It’s my bed.” I sigh, not sure if the words are in my head or if I’ve spoken them.
“Yes, Blue. It’s your bed. I’ll get you water. Stay put.”
As if I was going anywhere.
* * *
My head registers soft sounds coming from far, far away. The succulent smell of eggs and bacon follows from the same direction. Where am I?
Wait a minute? Images of my previous interaction with Massi flick through my head. Was I dreaming of his arms around me? No, he carried me to my bed. Events start slowly clicking into place.
I open my eyes. The curtains are drawn, but the sun is peeking through in a single ray of light. Sitting up, I realize I don’t have a headache anymore.
It’s eight o’clock and I’m in a T-shirt and my underwear. When did I undress? Did Massi do that? Jesus, as if there wasn’t enough tension between us.
I recall the muscular arms putting me gently to my bed and my heart weeps. He was only being a gentleman, I know, but still. He cared.
Don’t get ahead of yourself.
I follow the smell of bacon to the kitchen, assuming Seb is cooking.
The sight that confronts me when I get downstairs fills me with need and sadness. Massi is flipping pancakes. He’s in the same T-shirt and a pair of jeans from last night, I think, but he’s freshly showered. Did he sleep here?
With his back to me he doesn’t see me, and I decide to enjoy the view, leaning against the door frame. I’ve never seen anyone sexier.
The picture is so domestic and happy, it’s difficult to acknowledge this is not a regular situation.
“Good morning,” I say eventually.
He turns and gives me a nod. “Feeling better?”
A nod, not a smile. He’s here due to his sense of duty.
“Yes, thank you. Did you stay here last night?”
“After you fell asleep I went back to work. We had too many reservations to leave Lena there alone, but I came back.”
I walk to the coffee pot to pour myself a cup. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know.”
What does that mean? He knows, but he wanted to? Because of me? Or he didn’t want to leave his son—our son, damn it—with an incapacitated mother?
I take my coffee to the breakfast nook.
