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Casper turns his head, and his eyes flicker open.
It’s so close to my fantasy that my legs almost buckle.
“Ainsley,” he rasps, frowning. It takes another second before he sits up, finally realising where he is and why he’s here. Raking his hand through his raven black hair, he pushes the blanket off his body.
“Morning,” I say, my heart thudding a few beats too quickly for it to feel normal.
“Are you okay?”
“Mm. Yep, I’m fine. Fine. Did you sleep well?”
“Your sofa is comfortable. I didn’t hear anything else last night.”
The sofa isn’t comfortable, he just doesn’t want to admit it.
“No, me neither.” I was awake for most of it and would have heard if our uninvited garden guest had come back. “So… can I get you come coffee? I don’t think we have a lot in to eat, but I can make you some toast.”
He looks at me like I’ve grown another head, and I’m certain that I’m blushing. “Toast and coffee would be great. Thanks.”
I wring my hands. “Okay. Um, you chill here. TV remote is on the table, so help yourself. I’ll be back in a minute.”
When he glances at my hands, I swing them behind my back.
“Are you all right over there?” he asks after I leave the room like it’s on fire.
Fuck. Jolting, I spin around. He’s right there, shirtless in my kitchen, doing that thing where he burns up all the oxygen in the air. “Yep.”
I wince at my own stupidity and fill the kettle. It wouldn’t surprise me if I dropped the thing on my foot and then set the toaster alight.
This is the first time Casper has made me feel nervous, like I want to run away and never look back. Like I want to stay and peel those joggers down his legs.
I don’t like it one bit.
Neither of us seem sure how to navigate this being civil thing. All we know how to do with each other is fight. These feelings, fuelled by alcohol and a sexual dry spell, are new and scary, and I would very much like them to go away.
I flick the kettle on and almost leap out of my skin for the second time when he leans against the counter beside me. Entirely too close. Overwhelmingly close.
“Fuck! Make noise when you move.”
I feel him everywhere.
“Am I banished from the kitchen or were you being polite? I don’t need you to wait on me, Ainsley,” he says, angling his body sideways so he’s facing me.
Swallowing hard, I picture him asleep for just a second. He’s far less irritating that way.
“You’ve done plenty for us. I’m happy to make you something to eat.”
He’s silent, watching me with heated, intense eyes that I pictured twice last night. I’m not even sure he’s breathing.
“Casper?”
With a slight shake of his head, he asks, “Do you have Marmite?” Not a sentence I ever thought I would hear him say.
“Of course. We’re not savages.”
His little chuckle brings warmth to my cheeks.
“Sit down, you’re making the place look messy,” I say.
