One minute, I was staring at the ceiling, my mind running over every detail of the nightmare I’d had earlier, and the next, I was waking up to the soft warmth of something—someone—curled against me.

I didn’t move at first, didn’t even breathe.

Beverly’s arm was draped across my stomach, her head resting just below my shoulder, her breath warm against my skin. At some point during the night, she must’ve shifted closer, because there was no space between us now, just the heat of her body against mine.

I went completely still. Muscles locked. Breathing shallow.

This was problematic.

Not because of the act itself—humans are wired for warmth, for comfort. There was an evolutionary precedent for seeking physical closeness. It lowered cortisol levels, regulated heartbeats. It wasn’t unreasonable that, in her sleep, Beverly had gravitated toward another human body, especially one she trusted.

My brain processed the situation, breaking it down into facts.

She was asleep.

She had moved unconsciously.

This was a byproduct of proximity, not intention.

It meant nothing.

Still, I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes away from the ceiling above. I was paralyzed, my body stiff with the realization of how close we were.

Her fingers twitched in her sleep, curling slightly into the fabric of my shirt as though she were holding on to something.

A reflex. Meaningless.

My body, however, remained unconvinced. For a few minutes, I just lay there, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing against me. She was completely relaxed, still lost in sleep, oblivious to the fact that she was practically wrapped around me.

The room was dim, the early morning light just beginning to filter through the curtains. Everything felt hazy, still wrapped in the remnants of sleep.

If I moved, I might wake her. If I didn’t, I might go insane.

Then, Beverly stirred.

She let out a slow breath, shifting slightly, and for a second, I thought she was going to wake up. But instead, she just tightened her grip on me, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt like she wasn’t ready to let go.

My jaw clenched violently. I let my eyes slip closed again, breathing in slowly, willing my heartbeat to steady.

This was fine.

This was nothing.

This was explainable.

Just warmth.

Just comfort.

Just a moment we weren’t supposed to talk about.

But then, as if to shatter the illusion, a loud knock shattered the quiet. I tensed instantly, my pulse skyrocketing.

Beverly groaned softly against me, burying her face into my chest as if she could somehow escape the noise.

The knock came again, followed by a voice. “Blake?”

My blood ran cold.

Dad.

“Shit,” I breathed, violently aware of how tangled we were.