The sting of disappointment is enough to keep me in bed all day, but Dianne’s voice nags me at the back of my mind. Get out of bed, even if that’s the only thing you do. Then when you feel able, do the next thing.

Groaning audibly as if there’s anyone here to hear it, I violently roll myself over and land with a thud on the ground. Actually, it’s a good thing no one was here to see that bullshit. Whatever. She said I had to get out of bed, not how I had to get out of bed. I’m putting that one in the win column.

That done, I untangle myself from the comforter that came with me and toss it in a heap onto the floor. I’m pretty sure the next thing should be to make the bed, but I don’t care enough about the aesthetics of my home to bother. Instead, I rub the dried tears from the night before out of my eyes and pull on a pair of joggers that looks clean enough. I make my way to the kitchen, pleading with the universe that I still have enough coffee grounds left to brew myself a cup.

“Good morning,” a deep voice greets me.

My hand flies to my chest as I stumble back a step. “Fucking hell,” I breathe, pressing myself against the wall and trying to catch my breath.

“Did I scare you?” Ryan smirks. He’s leaning against my counter, and he takes a smug sip of what I really hope is coffee from a mug out of my eclectic collection. This one has a classic, intricate, blue-and-white design on it, but when you look closer, there are little dinosaurs chasing people among the detailed blue houses.

“Yes, you fucking scared me. I thought you had left.” My heart is still racing, though I can’t tell if it’s from lingering adrenaline or from the fact that he’s still here, looking fresh as a daisy even in yesterday’s clothes.

Still smirking, he hands me a mug. This one says I stayed up all night to see where the sun went. Then it dawned on me. He had bought this for me years ago as a joke about how late I tend to work, but I can’t help but wonder if he was in my head this morning.

“Sleep well?” he asks as if it’s totally normal for him to be standing in my kitchen at eight in the morning wearing clothes he must have slept in and handing me a warm mug as the early-morning light casts the whole scene in a glow.

I eye him over my mug as I take a slow sip. It is, indeed, coffee. A little, appreciative moan escapes me, and I could swear Ryan’s eyes flash. It’s gone too fast to be sure.