‘Yeah.’ He squeezed my hand. ‘I didn’t want to wake you, but I don’t know what time you start work.’

I frowned, confused. Wake me? ‘Wait …’ I shifted my head, looking around. Everything was bright. The sun was up, properly up, not just licking the horizon. ‘What time is it?’

‘Nine thirty.’

My eyes grew wide, and he smiled. A big, goofy smile I couldn’t help but return. ‘What?’

‘Honestly, if I’d known that was how to get you a solid eight hours.’ He laughed, raising an eyebrow.

I felt too shy to look at him, everything too real. ‘I … This bed is just really comfortable.’

‘Maybe.’

I looked at our fingers, knitting together, then at his face. He caught my eye, smiling, but different; smaller, almost scared. I could see the dimple in his cheek and it made my heart skip a beat. I had to look away.

‘Jesus.’ I finally noticed the room. Pale grey sheets, white walls, enormous windows, blue-white sky beyond, and I knew we were up high. I propped myself up on my elbows and felt them sink into the thick, pillowy mattress. It wasn’t a lie—no wonder I’d slept. Light grey carpet. Those windows. That view. ‘This place is crazy. You live here?’

He shrugged. ‘Like I said, I have a nice family.’

‘Really nice.’ I looked around. ‘You’re never coming to my place.’

He frowned.

‘I’m serious. You’d catch something.’

He smiled. That dimple. ‘It’d be worth it.’ His eyes flicked towards the bedside table. ‘I made you a coffee. I don’t know how you have it so I made a flat white.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, squeezing his fingers. He squeezed back. ‘That’s perfect.’

‘I didn’t put any sugar in it, but I can.’

I shook my head. When I looked at him his eyes were doing that thing again. Huge. Impossibly big. I wanted to drown in them. ‘Thank you.’

He hesitated. ‘I didn’t expect to see you last night. Sorry if I was—’

‘You weren’t.’ I bit my lip. ‘Sorry for the late-night booty call.’

He laughed, but there was something else in it. Faintly sad. ‘Was that what it was?’

I squeezed his fingers again, pulled his hand closer, suddenly struggling to find my voice. ‘No. It wasn’t that.’

‘Okay.’

‘I wanted to …’

His eyebrow arched up and it made me laugh, despite myself. ‘God, I’m so bad at this,’ I said, cringing.

‘At what?’

I looked around, then back at him. ‘All of this.’

‘Caitlin—’ his voice was low, flirty ‘—that is definitely not true.’

I laughed again.

‘Sorry,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘You were saying?’

I took a breath. How was he so relaxed? So at ease? How could he form sentences and make jokes and I could barely remember my own name?

I sighed. Caitlin. That was it. ‘It wasn’t a booty call.’