Page 144 of Surprisingly Us

“I don’t have the answers right now but your parents love you, and we’ll figure it out.”

In the dark, she blinks up at me. Looking into her crestfallen face, seeing those blue eyes filled with such hurt, I wish I could make everything better.

She swallows.

“I should be grateful they’re still—”

“Don’t.” I brush my thumb against her lips. “My parents not being here doesn’t minimize the pain you’re experiencing with your family.”

She sighs. “You’re right. I just feel—”

“Lost,” I finish for her.

“Yeah.” She nuzzles closer.

“That’s okay.” I stroke her hair, letting my fingers glide over the smooth strands.

After a while, Lettie’s breathing slowly evens out and finally, she’s asleep.

I lie awake, loving the feeling of her in my arms, and the unexpected contentment that being needed like this brings me. And soon, I drift off, too, the sound of Lettie’s soft snore against my chest lulling me to sleep.

CHAPTER 43

Colette

I’m drooling on my pillow.

I’m in that state of consciousness where I’m aware something is happening but my sleep-soaked brain can’t do anything about it. Signal to close my mouth? Nope. Hand to wipe the excess saliva away? Absolutely not.

That’s fine. I’ll just focus on how good it feels to lie here on my pillow.

My warm, muscly, skin-like pillow.

At that description, my brain becomes fully alert.

Pillows aren’t skin-like. Or muscly.

I blink, then my eyes fly open to find the man-chest my head is resting on.

Rhys.

That’s right. I’m not drooling on my pillow. I’m drooling on Rhys’s chest.

Careful not to wake him, I slowly lift my head, then with the precision of a neurosurgeon, I peel back the covers and slink out of bed. I tiptoe to the bathroom to grab a washcloth—something to remove the evidence from his chest.

Being held by Rhys was exactly what I needed last night. He didn’t press me for what was wrong, he only held me, rocking me gently, until I was calm enough to talk.

The way Rhys comforted me, held me while I cried, even the fact that he remembered how I like to put my toothpaste on my toothbrush, was everything to me. It’s the reason I called him.

I needed him. And he showed up.

There wasn’t a trace of the flaky playboy with the bad reputation. Last night Rhys was the sweet, soothing man I’ve come to rely on. He’s the one I wanted to be comforted by.

And I paid him back for his kindness by drooling all over his chest. There’s nothing I can do to change it, but what I can do right now is wipe it off before he finds out I slobbered all over him.

I grab a washcloth but, on my way back to my bedroom, a glance in the full-length mirror on the back of the door tells me that drool is not the only off-putting problem I have this morning. I’ve got red, puffy eyes, dry patches on my cheeks, likely from the skin there being soaked in salty tears, and a mass of wild, unruly hair.

Last night, the hurt and heartache from my parents’ announcement made me a sobbing mess, but I hadn’t cared what I looked like. Now, in the light of day, with Rhys lying in my bed, I’m more concerned.

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