Page 46 of The Witch is Back

Nothing to read into, she decided. The actions of a kind-of friend. She pushed the unease away.

Sitting up, letting the blanket fall to her lap, Emma smoothed a hand over her hair. It felt like a bird had set up its forever home in there, unsurprising since she tended to be a restless sleeper. No wonder Bastian had disappeared. He’d probably gone home to sleep since she was technically on his makeshift bed. Unless he’d taken hers.

Refusing to let the image settle, she swung her legs off the couch.

And promptly stood on Bastian’s sleeping body.

Her foot slipped as she tried to avoid contact. Her mangled thoughts attempted to manipulate the air to cushion her, but speed had never been her thing and she could only yelp as she landed half on top of him.

His breath fled him in a pained oomph. His eyes snapped open, a grimace twisting and mixing with a what-the-hell expression.

She levered herself up, cheeks hot. Playing it off, she stared at him staring at her. “Morning.”

“Morning.” He blinked sleep from his eyes. “You planning on doing this every day when we’re married? It’s a different wake-up call than most wives perform.” Wickedness flashed in the blue. “Though a similar position.”

Yep. Conjure a coffin; she was dead. “You—you shouldn’t say stuff like that.”

He fiddled with a piece of her hair that had drifted forward. “Who else should I say it to?”

“Can’t you just say morning?”

“I did.” He tucked the stray piece behind her ear, grazing skin that shivered in response. “You look different.”

“My cheeks aren’t usually red.”

He grinned. “I’d say more pink. But that’s not it. You seem...” He studied her, gaze wandering over her features. A kind of breathless anticipation held her immobile as she waited for him to finish. Finally he just shook his head with a quirk to his mouth. “I don’t know. Ignore me. I’m not used to such an aggressive hello in the mornings.”

Emma swallowed the butterflies, forcing them down to the deepest pit of her stomach. “I didn’t know you were here. I slipped.”

“You had the couch.”

“You could have had my b-bed.”

He didn’t comment on the obvious stutter. “Seemed ungentlemanly. Besides, I’ve slept on plenty of floors. It doesn’t bother me.”

“Bastian Truenote sleeping on floors?” She couldn’t keep the skepticism out of her voice.

“I’ve even been known to have a beard.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I have pictures.”

She laughed and his expression froze. “What?”

“Nothing.” He rocked his head back and forth on the carpet in a facsimile of a shake. “I just don’t think I’ve heard you laugh for a while.”

There went the damned lump in her throat again. She cleared it. “Maybe you’re not as funny as you think.”

“Maybe,” he murmured.

He had the air of someone who’d discovered something new and it was starting to freak her out. Or maybe that was the realization that she was still lying half on top of him.

“Oh, Goddess.” She scrambled up, flushed and all patting hands. She didn’t know what to do with them after so they fluttered like birds who’d just escaped a cage. As Chester shot her a mournful look, she sagged in relief. “I have to walk Chester.” And escape. No, not escape, she amended. Just...get some fresh air.

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