The longer I watch him, the more something I’ve not felt before pulls low in my belly, and I know right at that moment that I should leave, but I can’t. I owe it to him to stick around. He might become dehydrated through the night. If he did and I wasn’t here and something happened, I’d never forgive myself.

So, placing the glass of water onto the lamp table within his reach, I sit beside him and tug at the afghan throw from the back the couch. Tucking the blanket over us, I nestle slightly closer to Harley, and I close my eyes, smiling at the thought of Nash Harris missing me.

Chapter 14

My eyelashes flutter to the sound of a crow squawking loudly from outside. Encased in an unfamiliar yet welcoming, all-consuming warmth, I nestle a little closer, slowly drifting back to sleep. But that’s when it hits me. I freeze, stiffening completely. Squeezing my eyes closed, I don’t dare breathe. I take a moment to comprehend what the hell is going on, where the hell I am, and why the hell I’m there, before I nervously open one eye. Peering through my lashes, I see Harley beside me, his arm wrapped around my shoulders as he continues sleeping soundly.

What in the actual heck?

Why the hell am I asleep with Harley’s arm around me?

I begin finding it difficult to breathe, and yet he’s completely oblivious to me and the current state of my mini-meltdown. I find some relief in the fact that we’re both fully clothed—thank God—the two of us covered by a crochet blanket. Hell, there’s even a throw cushion squeezed in between us. From what I can tell, nothing untoward has occurred. And suddenly I remember last night—the past twenty-four hours, in fact—and it all comes back to me.

The laxatives.

The cake.

Harley’s diarrhea.

Drunk Anna.

Nash.

I miss you …

I close my eyes tight again, resting my head against the back of the couch. Pushing my tangled hair out of my face and adjusting my lopsided glasses, I release a heavy sigh, and consider everything that’s happened. Everything that’s changed with that one text message. But then, I cast a sideways glance at Harley, my mind reeling. Why the hell is he so close to me? I become distracted and, for a moment, I find myself watching him sleep. His lips are pursed together, causing his dimples to pull into his cheeks, and his long eyelashes flutter ever so slightly as the hint of a grin begins to ghost over those same lips as if he’s dreaming the most unimaginable of dreams. And, for the first time in the fifteen years I’ve known him, he looks innocent, angelic almost. I can’t help but smile at the sight before me. He really is a beautiful specimen of a man.

When I sleep I’m almost certain I look like one of those furry cats with the out-turned eyes: my tongue hanging out the side of my mouth, drool trailing down my chin, the occasional snort. But Harley, he’s beautiful, and the longer I watch him, the more I regret being woken up by that damn crow. With his arm wrapped around me, I haven’t slept so peacefully in a long time.