I look to my right and find Duke sitting directly next to my bed, staring at me stalker style, as per usual. A piece of paper is wedged under his collar and I sit up, holding the sheet to cover my torso as I reach out and take the note.

It reads:

Good morning, I already went for a walk and Papa Ryan is out getting breakfast. He said he’ll be back very soon.

A huge smile spreads across my face.

P.S. He also told me to look away when you get out of bed because you’re too hot for me to handle.

All thoughts of hangovers and embarrassment vanish as I break out laughing and lie back down. I extend my arms and hold the note up over my face to reread it. I’m satisfied when I have it memorized. I then let the small piece of paper rest on my chest on top of the sheet, staring up at the ceiling with my now ever-present grin.

I’m doing it again. I can feel myself falling for that wonderful idiot all over again and I can’t stop myself. And what’s worse, I don’t even want to.

Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed in yoga pants and a T-shirt when I hear Ryan push the key in the apartment lock. I scurry into my bedroom, wanting to casually walk out once he’s inside like I didn’t hear him come in.

The door opens and closes, and I come out soon after, feeling strangely unsure and out of place in my own apartment. Ryan is standing in front of the kitchenette with two coffees and a bag with what I’m pretty sure is two scones.

“Hey,” I say, looking to him for any sign of how I should be reacting right now. There are a lot of options on the table. I can pretend nothing happened. I can joke about it. Or I charge at him full force for an overhead lift, circa Dirty Dancing.

“Hey,” he answers, placing everything onto the kitchen table. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” I say. “Feeling perfectly normal and not awkward at all.”

Ryan smiles. “Yeah, me, too.”

“So...do you want to talk about last night?”

He rests his hand on the table, moving it this way and that way across the wooden surface. It’s a nervous gesture and it makes me feel a degree more comfortable.

“We probably should. Do you want to?” he asks.

I pause and consider. “Not particularly, no.”

“I just don’t want you to think that I planned what happened last night. When I came to stay here, I had no intention that anything would...”