I open the door, prepared to see Wyatt still asleep on the couch, probably snoring, drooling even. But he isn’t there. His “bed” is made, pillows left to the side, blanket folded. He isn’t on the balcony, and he definitely isn’t in the bathroom.

He’s gone.

It’s fine; he probably just went to go get breakfast or something.

It’s fine, it’s fine.

That doesn’t stop me from tapping my nails on the counter. Samuel’s right—I’m being paranoid. Why do I even care about where he’s gone? So long as he’s back in time for the brunch, it shouldn’t matter. And he can’t get lost if his phone is charged.

It’s fine.

This is fine.

He only comes back after I’ve taken a shower and I’m flipping through the channels on the television, where I find what—according to the TV guide—seems to be an all-day marathon of one of those sitcoms that people who don’t have a personality make their personalities, but I sit there anyway and watch it because there’s nothing else on and I don’t have the energy to type in my Netflix info.

After a few minutes of suffering through the laugh track, I hear the beep of the card reader and the lock clicking, and Wyatt strolls in, a tray with two iced coffees in one hand, and a paper bag in the other.

“Good morning!” Wyatt sings, a little too chipper, one earbud tucked in his ear while the other hangs loose.

“Coffee?” I stare at the drinks he’s presenting me.

“Yeah, figured you might want some.” Wyatt’s got his signature Americano, and what looks to be an iced mocha for me? “There’s this little café down the street, really cute. They had a cat!”

“Right …”

“Your sandwich is bacon, egg, and cheese. I didn’t really know what you’d want.”

It’s not until the smell of the breakfast food hits me that I realize how starved I am.

“You’re the best person I know,” I say, unwrapping the sandwich and taking the biggest bite I can manage.

“A compliment? That’s new.” Wyatt unwraps his own food and sips from his coffee. “When did you wake up?”

“Like thirty minutes ago.” I talk with my mouth full. God, this sandwich is so good. I want to marry it.

“Same. This time change messed me up.”

“You’ll get used to it after a day or two.”

Wyatt and I carry our food and coffee to the show playing in the background. I have no idea what it is, but it’s decent background noise, filling this void so that we don’t have to talk to each other.

“I don’t get why people still love this show, it’s, like, fifty years old,” he says, breaking the silence.

“I dunno.”