Page 39 of Make Me Dream of You

Macy doesn’t turn to look at him. “Thank you, but I’d rather just sleep on the couch.” Her usual sweet voice flat and filled with exhaustion. I can’t blame her.

“Oh, right. Okay.” Wood only looks crestfallen for a second before that smile is back, if less lopsided than before. “I’ll go get you some blankets and a pillow. Do you like a more firm or soft pillow?”

“Whatever is fine.” Macy slumps onto the couch, closing her eyes and rubbing at her temples.

Wood rushes off down the hall past Noah.

“Shit, I should change my bedding for you,” Noah says, combing his fingers through his damp hair.

How do I say I don’t mind sleeping in his used sheets that smell like him without sounding like a total weirdo? Right. I don’t.

“I’ll help you,” I say.

“Nah, you stay here. I’ll be right back.”

He retreats as Wood reappears, carrying a heap of white bedding, his arms full up to his chin, and goes over to Macy, who’s slumped down on the couch.

“I just brought both a firm and a softer pillow, so you have the option. And this heavy blanket is my favorite, but if it gets too warm there’s this lighter one?—”

“Wood. Thank you, but I can do it myself.” She takes the blankets from him and shoos him off as she gets started laying them across the couch.

His smile droops, his attempts at being helpful foiled—again.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asks her.

“Just some quiet so I can sleep. I’m so tired.”

“Got it—” Wood stops himself, then whispers, “Got it.”

Macy lies down and pulls the blanket over her head.

Wood tiptoes over to the kitchen, fills a glass of water and grabs a banana then places both gingerly on the table next to Macy as she sleeps.

Wood points at me. “What do you like for breakfast?” he half asks, half mouths as he walks back to the kitchen.

“Um, I don’t need anything special. Just whatever you have will be fine.”

“No, no I’m putting in a grocery order right now.” He holds up his phone with the app open. “What’s your favorite? You’re our guest.”

“Oh. Okay, um…waffles?”

“Nice choice, girl,” he whisper-yells and then does a silent, long-distance high five. “Don’t leave me hanging, bro.”

I complete it with a stifled laugh and he gives me an excited little fist pump.

“Liv.” Noah’s voice catches me off guard and I turn to him, standing in the hall, half in shadow. He beckons me over to him. “Ready for bed?”

“Night!” Wood whisper shouts as I follow Noah down the hall to his room.

He leads me inside and closes the door behind us.

Dark curtains are drawn over the large, floor-to-ceiling window. Only the light of the moon reflecting off the water shining through the small gap lights the room, washing everything in a hazy shade of gray—the concrete floors, his large bed pushed up against a chunky brick wall.

The bed is done up with light sheets, big pillows, and a fluffy charcoal comforter that’s doubled over.

“This okay?”

“Yeah, thank you. I feel kind of bad kicking you out of your bed, though.”

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