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Hugo gently brushed his hand over the back of my head and started gathering everything up.
“Told them if it’s not from me it’s not—” I paused to yawn, then shivered. “Ooft. It’s not real,” I finished after a second. “My brain has turned to mush.”
“It certainly sounds like it. Here.”
I sat up straight with a heavy sigh. He’d gathered everything up into one pile, and I put it into the folder, closed it, and yawned again.
“Bloody hell, Soph,” he said softly. “You can’t do this to yourself over a stupid party.”
“Mmph.” I wasn’t sure I was capable of forming a complete sentence. I’d been switched “on” for so long that my brain was no longer working the right way, and there was a very high chance I was going to be asleep by the time we reached the cottage.
Hugo took the folder and my bag, then wrapped one arm around my waist. He might have been holding me up—I was honestly too tired to even tell, and the process of getting into his car and getting home was nothing but a sleepy blur for me. I didn’t even know we were there until he reached over and brushed the back of his fingers over my cheek.
“Where are your keys?” he asked me softly.
“In my pocket.” I dug them out and handed them to him with a yawn, and we both got out of the car.
I trudged up to the door behind him, almost tripping over my own feet at one point. I definitely would have tripped on the step going inside if it weren’t for Hugo seeing it happen and catching me.
Him having to take me home had to be getting old.
“This is becoming a habit,” he muttered, letting me inside.
“I didn’t ask you to take me home. I could have driven,” I replied. Yawning. Again.
Always with the yawning.
He glanced back at me. “Yeah. You could have driven yourself. Into a hedgerow.”
Perhaps.
I flopped down onto the sofa and, after resting my head against the back of the cushions, closed my eyes.
“Sophie?”
“Mmph?” I replied without opening them.
“You can’t sleep there.”
“I could sleep in a pond.”
Hugo sighed, and the next thing I felt was his arms sliding under my back and my knees as he scooped me up.
“What are you doing?” I asked sleepily.
“Putting you to bed. Sleep in your jeans, if you must, but you can’t sleep on the sofa. You’ll only wake up with a sore neck tomorrow morning.” He carried me through the cottage. “Mind your head.”
I rolled it so my head was resting on his shoulder, and the next thing I felt was him putting me on the bed. I kicked off my shoes and yanked the tousled covers over my body, once again yawning as the mattress dipped.
“What are you doing?”
“Come here.” He was on top of the covers, but he pulled me against him, and I rolled over to rest my head on his chest.
I knew I shouldn’t.
I knew this was bad and it would make ending it harder, but there was a huge part of me that couldn’t turn away from his touch.
His arm was wrapped tightly around me, and the rise and fall of his chest was as soothing as the way he stroked my hair.
