Page 64 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
How is he sleeping throughanyof this?
I need to climb off of him soon, because I like spooning with Three a little too much. Also, Ireallyhave to pee now.
Like a lot.
Before I begin my slow escape from the top of Three Fuller Mountain, I allow myself to savor the altitude for a moment longer. His heart is beating—slow and steady—a peaceful throb against my cheek. I let our breathing sync up, enjoying the connection, even if I’m the only one who’s aware.
Either way, this is, undoubtedly, the most comfortable pillow I’ve ever slept on. And while his delicious scent—all clean and piney—isn’t doing me any favors in the drool department, Three’s body is cloaking me in warmth and safety. I feel not just protected but cherished.
Oh, come on, Sara. Let’s not get carried away.
Yes, Three and I dabbled in a bit oflip actionlast night, but he didn’t want to be my long-distance boyfriend ten years ago, and he’s not going to beg for a commitment now. He has a full life in Abieville. I’ve got a new job waiting in the city. Two different-sized spoons in two different cutlery drawers.
A small sigh slips out of me, and Three draws in a breath at the same time. My head lifts right along with the swell of his ribcage, a wave I wouldn’t mind riding for a little while longer.
“Sara?”
Gah! I’ve been caught.
If Three is awake, he’s obviously aware I’m on top of him. My best course of action is to feign ignorance, right? Play dumb. Or possum. Or both.
“Are you still sleeping?” His voice is a deep rumble in his chest, and I put on a show, faking a snuffly yawn like I’m only just stirring, even though I’ve already been fully conscious for several minutes.
“Hmmm,” I mumble. Quite the actress, if I do say so myself. Three reaches out, drawing a finger down my cheek, and his touch is beyond soft. Tender, even. I could play dead forever if this is the kind of treatment I’d receive.
“It’s nine thirty,” he says.
“What?” I gasp and bolt upright, scrambling over to my original side of the couch. “How do you know?”
“I counted nine gongs the last time the grandfather clock struck. There was another gong a few minutes ago, which means it’s more than half past the hour.”
“But the evaluator’s coming at ten,” I yelp.
“I know. I didn’t want to wake you, but I figured you’d want to be ready to get his attention when he gets here. We can position ourselves on the other side of the wall from the bookshelf and shout after the clock strikes ten. Let’s just hope this guy is on time. And not hard of hearing.”
“How long haveyou been awake?”
“I don’t know.”
“Three.”
“I honestly didn’t get much sleep. I kept thinking about when you asked if there was enough oxygen in the room. And I started worrying about you. Your safety.”
“You said there was plenty of oxygen.”
“And I’m sure there is. But you know how twisted a person’s thoughts can get in the middle of the night.”
“So you just stayed up?”
His silence tells me he must’ve been awake at whatever point I turned my body around to use him as my own personal mattress. “I don’t know how you ended up underneath me,” I blurt. “I must’ve been sleepwalking. Except I guess it was more like sleep-crawling. All over the couch. All over you. But I never would have?—”
“It’s okay,” he interjects, cutting off my rambling. “I was the one who moved you.”
My heartbeat accelerates, and I raise a hand to my flushing throat. “I don’t understand.”
“Your teeth were chattering, and I felt you shivering more than once. I just wanted to warm you up.”
“So you pulled me on top of you?”
