Page 15 of Nolan

She makes a sound of protest, but her eyes close completely. Within moments, her breathing deepens, evens out, and she's asleep in my arms, her face peaceful in a way I rarely get to see.

I hold her for a long time, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest, tracing the curve of her cheek with my fingertips.Eventually, I shift, lifting her carefully. She stirs but doesn't wake as I carry her upstairs to my bedroom. I lay her gently on the bed, removing only her shoes before pulling the covers over her.

I should leave, take the guest room or the couch, but something keeps me rooted in place. The thought of her waking confused and alone in the morning makes my chest tight. Instead, I strip down to my boxers and t-shirt and slide in beside her, careful to leave space between us.

But even in sleep, she seeks me out, rolling toward me, nestling against my chest with a soft sigh of contentment. I wrap an arm around her, drawing her closer, and press a kiss to the top of her head.

"What are you doing to me, Annabelle?" I whisper into the darkness.

There's no answer except her steady breathing and the certainty that when morning comes, everything will have changed. For better or worse, there's no going back now. And as sleep finally claims me, I find I don't want to.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Annabelle

Iwake with a start, my heart racing as I blink against the unfamiliar light streaming through curtains that aren't mine. For a moment, I'm disoriented, until the events of last night come rushing back in vivid detail. My head is killing me.

How I'd had one too many drinks. How I'd called Nolan when I couldn't drive myself home. How all of those decisions ended me up back here, in his bed, wrapped in sheets that smell like him.

The space beside me is empty, the sheets cool to the touch. I sit up, clutching the comforter to my chest, my eyes scanning the room for any sign of him. His t-shirt is draped over a chair, his cell phone on the nightstand. The clock reads 6:45 AM. Early, but not too early for Nolan who's always up with the sun.

I hear movement outside the bedroom, the soft clink of dishes, the quiet hum of the coffee maker. My stomach knots with uncertainty. What happens now? Last night was... complicated.

I slip out of bed, surprised I'm still dressed. I remember us getting hot and heavy at some point. I try to smooth my hair intosomething presentable before I face him. Before I face whatever this morning-after conversation will bring.

When I step into the hallway, I listen for any sounds in the quiet house. But it's silent.

I find Nolan in the kitchen, his back to me as he pours coffee into two mugs. He's already dressed in jeans and a fresh t-shirt, hair damp from a shower.

"Morning," I say softly, not wanting to startle him.

He turns, and there's a flash of something in his eyes, warmth, anxiety, I can't quite tell, before his expression settles into something more cautious.

"Hey," he says, offering me a mug. "I wasn't sure if you'd want to sleep in."

I take the coffee, our fingers brushing in the exchange, sending a jolt through my system that has nothing to do with caffeine. I try not to notice how his muscles move with him. How they expand and contract, just like my chest. "Thank you."

We stand there, the silence stretching between us, heavy with unspoken words. I take a sip of coffee to buy myself time, to figure out what to say, but he speaks first.

"Annabelle, about last night..." He sets his mug down, leaning against the counter. "We got carried away."

The words sting more than they should. "Is that what you think happened?"

"I don't know what happened," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "One minute we were standing there, and the next we were..."

"Together," I finish for him, because I can't bear to hear him reduce what happened to something clinical or, worse, something regrettable.

He nods, his gaze meeting mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. Those eyes of his are so fucking hot, running up and down my body. "Yeah. Together." He takes a deep breath."Look, I need to be honest with you. I've wanted this, wanted you, for longer than I care to admit. But there's more at stake here than just us."

"Ashlynn," I whisper, and he nods again. Something akin to pain flashing across his face.

"She adores you, Annabelle. You're the closest thing to a mother she's had since Lisa left. She doesn't even remember Lisa, she was so young. You're the one she knows. If we do this, if we try to be something more than we are, and it doesn't work out..." He trails off, but I understand what he's saying.

"She'll be the one who gets hurt," I finish.

"Exactly." He pushes away from the counter, moving closer to me. His scent envelopes me, and I do my best not to curl in next to him. "If you don't want to move forward, if you think we should go back to how things were, you need to tell me now. Because I can't put her through losing someone else she loves. She's already lost too much."

My heart aches at the truth of his words. Ashlynn, sweet Ashlynn, who crawls into my lap for stories, who asks me to braid her hair, who smiles for me when she wakes up from her afternoon naps. The thought of hurting her is unbearable.

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