There’s no quilt wrapped around us, but this feels more intimate than last night. Because, now, this is more.

The movie plays, and we chuckle at every classic joke thrown out by Chris Farley and David Spade. Ben’s chest bounces me as he guffaws, making me laugh even harder.

Being together, like this, feels right. Letting go of the security of my timeline made me sweat at first, but for some reason, being around Ben eases my panic.

Even with the excitement of the night and the movement of his chest, I eventually drift off. Consequences of a long hike and a stomach full of good food.

When I wake up, it’s because Ben is lifting me off the couch.

“Wha-what’s happening?”

“I’m taking you to bed.” He moves toward the bedroom, but there’s a pressure in my bladder demanding attention.

“No, wait.” I shake my head.

He looks down at me, befuddled, and then seems to come to some understanding. “No, no. Not like that, Holly. I mean, I’m going to put you in your bed. Then, I’ll go to mine.”

I roll my eyes and give his side a little pinch but not too hard. Don’t want him dropping me on my butt. “Yeah. Got that. Appreciate it. But I need to use the bathroom.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure.”

Then, to my delight, I realize Ben is actually blushing.

When he sets me down, I stand on my tiptoes to plant a kiss on one of those rapidly warming cheeks, leaving him standing there with a goofy smile on his face.

The chill of the bathroom floor creeps through the wool of my socks. This spurs me on, and I finish peeing, brushing my teeth, and washing my face in rapid time. When I exit, Ben slips past me to take his own turn.

In my borrowed bedroom, I take stock of my appearance. Helping me pack, Terra said I’d want clothes for cold weather and being outside. In an effort to maintain friendship-like feelings toward Ben, I brought my most formless clothes. Luckily, they also happened to be my warmest—bulky sweaters, fleece-lined long underwear, thick socks. Now though, I want something that doesn’t make me look like I’m preparing to be thrown out in a snowstorm. The best I’ve got is a worn pair of flannel pajama pants and a tank top I planned to use as the first of many layers. The ensemble still sits firmly in the category of comfy rather than sexy. But at least it’s not frumpy.

There’s a light knock on my door. When I open it, Ben leans against the doorframe, and I watch his body visibly relax when I smile up at him.

“Worried I was hiding from you?”

His arm flexes as he reaches back to scratch his neck while sporting a rueful smile. Then, I notice he’s wearing short sleeves. The red T-shirt fits him snugly, the edge inching up as he raises his arm. I rack my brain but can’t think of a time I’ve seen Ben in anything other than long sleeves. And I definitely would have remembered because, now, I can see more tattoos peeking out from under the fabric. But on his left forearm, there’s a wide black armband covering the bump of his fistula.