Nash: I miss you.

I gasp out loud and, even as I stare at it, I don’t actually believe my own eyes. But there it is right in front of me. Black and white. Illuminated in the dim light of the room. Glaring at me like the blinding light of a beacon. My jaw drops, and everything seems to come to a standstill, my heart thumping wildly in what feels like the very back of my throat.

He misses me?

I read the text message at least a thousand times, trying so hard to analyze those three tiny words. Does he miss me, Murph, his old friend? Or does he miss me, Murph, his ex-girlfriend? The one he shared so much with from our first kiss, to our first time? Those three words are so simple to misconstrue, and while my heart is beating unbelievably fast in my chest it feels as if it’s about to explode, I know I can’t let myself get too carried away. Nash misses me. I desperately try to collect what little composure I have left as I stare at the three tiny words on the screen. Three tiny words with so much meaning. Three tiny words that have the power to change absolutely everything.

Contemplating my reply, I consider whether or not to return the sentiment, but before I can do anything, my phone buzzes in my hand once again.

Nash: Goodnight, Murph.

I exhale a trembling breath, staring at his final message, but I don’t bother with a reply. Instead, I lock my phone and place it face down in my lap.

“Holy crap,” I whisper under my breath as I relax back against the couch, shaking my head as a million conflicting thoughts race through my mind.

“Holy crap, what?”

I startle, turning quickly to see Harley hobbling through the doorway, clutching at his side. He’s changed into a pair of sweats and a Bulldogs’ T-shirt, and he looks like death warmed up as he flops down onto the couch beside me, relaxing back and closing his eyes.

“Nothing.” I wave a hand in the air, dismissing his question, tucking my phone into my purse as I try to convince myself not to overthink Nash’s cryptic text message. “I’ll get you that glass of water.” I stand, hurrying back into the kitchen to avoid any further questions from him. But when I return with the icy glass in my hand, I stop just shy of the couch. In the minute it took me to refill the glass with fresh cold water from the fridge, Harley somehow managed to fall into a sound sleep. I guess excessive pooping could knock anyone out for the night.

As I watch him snoring quietly for a moment, looking peaceful, I catch myself smiling at just how adorable he looks. His mouth is slightly open, his chin resting on his chest. Unruly hair sticks up every which way, the longer locks falling down over his forehead. Long lashes fan over his cheeks, and a slight furrow pulls between his brows as if, even in his sleep, he’s overthinking something.