Page 30 of Breakaway Hearts

When I wake up the morning after the fire, it feels like I’m encased in a soft cloud. Maybe there are upsides to having to move in with Reese—namely, the comfiest bed I’ve ever slept in.

My full-size bed, with its hundred dollar Ikea mattress and forty dollar Walmart bedspread, cannot compare to the furniture in Reese’s spare bedroom. I’ve been in this room before, but I’ve never slept on the bed, and I roll around in the king-sized monstrosity to soak it all in.

What will Sienna think of this?

The thought pops into my head as I consider how long I’ll likely have to stay here, and what we’ll tell people about my sudden decision to move in with Reese.

“Eh,” I mutter to myself, burying my face in the fluffy pillow. “I don’t give a shit.”

Maybe Ishouldcare, given the fact that we cooked up this scheme specifically to make her jealous, but all I want to focus on right now is how soft and warm the covers are and how the stream of sunlight trickling in through the windows feels on my bare face.

Eventually, I force myself out of the heavenly bliss that is Reese’s guest bedroom, driven by my growling stomach and my desire for a hot drink. I’ll have many more nights to revel in the bed’s comfort, but that thought doesn’t make it any easier to abandon the warm little cocoon now.

Reese’s door is still closed when I leave my bedroom, so I tiptoe down the stairs and into the kitchen. But when I open the fridge, I only see a few reusable water bottles, several bottles of beer, and several half-empty takeout containers.

“Oh, Reese,” I murmur with a sigh. “How quickly you’ve reverted to bachelorhood.”

“What was that?”

I jump at the sound of my best friend’s voice and turn around guiltily.

He leans against the wall across from the fridge, arms crossed, with a half grin on his face. The flush that spreads up my cheeks at being busted talking to myself isn’t helped by the fact that he’s only wearing a pair of low-slung sweatpants. He has a perfectly defined “V,” along with a trail of hair leading to his…

Fuck.

I snap my gaze back up to his face. The glimmer in his eyes has changed from being playful to something a bit darker, and I watch him look me over in the same way I did him.

I resist the urge to cover myself up. It’s not like I’m wearing anything skimpy to begin with, just some sleep shorts and a t-shirt, but I guess that’s less than I usually wear around Reese.

“Morning,” he says, suddenly back to his usual, cheerful self. Maybe I imagined that look he was giving me because, let’s be real, Reese would never look at me the same way he used to look at Sienna. The way he still looks at her.

“Hey,” I say with the most convincing smile I can muster.

“Sleep well?” he asks, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it up at the sink.

“Amazing, actually.” He pours a glass for me as well, and I gulp it down. “I don’t remember the last time I slept that well.”

“I hope you give a five-star rating to Chez Sutton, then.”

“Send me the Yelp link.” I rest a hip against the counter, holding up several fingers. “Five stars for the bed. Two-and-a-half stars for the kitchen situation.”

“Hey.” He gives me a mock offended look. “That fridge was stocked to the brink last week, but it’s grocery day.”

Someone rings the doorbell just as I’m about to reply, and Reese sets his glass down and goes to answer it. I’m refilling my water when he comes back into the kitchen carrying several overflowing grocery bags in his arms.

“What—”

“Fivestars for the kitchen situation, right?” He smirks, placing them on the counter. Then he begins pulling things out and sorting them into piles.

There’s an array of fresh fruits and vegetables, tofu, chicken thighs, teriyaki sauce, loads of pasta, a box of herbal tea and an electric kettle, and four packs of Twizzlers. He lays it all out on the counter and keeps going, but I’m too shocked to keep track of what else he pulls out after that.

“Reese,” I say softly. “Wow. I can’t believe… is this for me? How did you know to get all of these things?”

He continues unpacking the bags, his messy dark blonde hair falling over his forehead a little as he glances over at me. “How many meals have we eaten together? How many hours have we spent just hanging out? Of course I know what you like.”

I honestly can’t believe Reese did this—has doneallof this—just to make me feel comfortable. I’m shocked that he remembers I prefer tea over coffee. Simple and healthy dishes. Pasta loaded with sausage and a massive side salad. When did he become so knowledgeable about my favorite foods? Do I know his?

Even as I have that thought, I realize that I do. I know that he hates mushrooms and prefers a white sauce on his pasta over a red one. He prefers lean meat to red meat. He’s surprisingly picky about seafood but will eat tempura any day of the week.

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