Page 51 of Ripple Effect

He looks up, a flicker of confusion dancing in his eyes before realization sets in. “Ah, right. Sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m used to getting naked in front of people. Didn’t even register it might make you uncomfortable.”

With an embarrassed laugh, we settle on a compromise, turning our backs to each other to get changed. Once I’m in my oversized shirt and a pair of comfy sweats, I turn back to face him.

“Are you decent?” His voice breaks the silence, a tinge of amusement lingering in his question. I confirm that I am, and he turns around, a small smile tugging at his lips. He takes a step toward me, fingers lightly brushing over the hem of my sleeve.

“Is this your favorite shirt?” he asks. “You wore it to bed last night, too.”

I blush, staring down at the oversized T-shirt. Unfortunately, it used to belong to Logan, a fact I had nearly forgotten in the chaos of the day. “No, actually, um, it’s my ex’s.”

He stiffens, the playful smile wiped off his face. He takes a step back and says, “Why would you keep wearing it?”

“I didn’t really think about it,” I mutter. “I’ve worn it forever, and it’s big and comfy enough for sleeping.”

He just shakes his head, disappearing into his closet. When he returns, he’s holding a clean, fresh shirt.His shirt. He steps closer to me, the fabric clutched in his hand. “Change.”

I raise a brow, planting both hands on my hips. “Ask me nicely.”

He sighs. “Daisy, will you please remove that asshole’s shirt from your body?”

I turn my back to him, peeling off the fabric and exposing my bare back to the chilly air. His body heat seeps into me as he steps closer and murmurs a soft “Arms up.”

I follow his command, and goose bumps prickle along my skin. It’s silent for a long moment, and then, ever-so-slowly, he slips the new shirt over my body. His fingertips trace a scorching path down my sides, stopping just above my hips before he pulls them away.

The feeling is intoxicating, unfamiliar, and it sparks a flame deep inside of me.

“There,” he breathes out. “All set.”

“Thanks.”

He grins at me, the smile reaching his eyes, warming them. “Anytime,” he says with a wink, defusing the tension as we step toward the edge of his bed.

He pulls back the duvet. With a small nod, I gingerly slip under the covers, creating a boundary of space between us. Elio mirrors my actions on the opposite side, his back facing me.

“Good night, Daze,” he eventually murmurs, his voice a low rumble in the quiet of the room.

“Good night, El.”

We lie there, backs to each other, separated by the chasm of the king-sized bed, each enveloped by our own thoughts. As the minutes tick by, Elio’s breathing deepens and slows, a clear sign of him drifting into sleep.

And then, he turns onto his side, his body gravitating toward mine as if by instinct.

His hand, warm and heavy, finds its way to my hip, curling gently around it. The contact is barely there, yet it sends a jolt of warmth right through me, tethering us.

It’s such an innocent act, almost unconscious, and it leaves me staring at the ceiling, a tender smile on my lips. A soothing calmness washes over me, an unfamiliar but welcome sensation.

It’s as if, in this moment, everything else falls away—our worries, our pasts, our fears—and it’s just us.

Slowly, my own eyelids grow heavier, sleep beckoning me. Despite the events of today—of the last few weeks—I feel safe, cocooned in a sense of comfort I hadn’t anticipated. So, I let myself drift off, the last thing I remember being the gentle pressure of Elio’s hand on my hip and the soft beat of his heart next to mine.

* * *

I’m warm,content, all cozy in bed as the first rays of morning light filter into the room. It’s still too early, but I blink open my eyes anyway, my mind foggy from sleep. A warmth radiates from my side, and I glance down, finding Elio’s arm draped across my waist.

His chest rises and falls against my back in a slow, steady rhythm, his breath a warm whisper against my hair. His fingers twitch slightly against my belly, sending tiny jolts of awareness down my spine.

I freeze, holding my breath, hoping to delay the inevitable awkwardness. And just for a moment, I allow myself to enjoy the comfortable silence, the intimacy of the situation, and the rhythmic sound of Elio’s deep breathing.

But then, my phone vibrates from the bedside table, shaking me out of the spell. I glance at the screen, my heart sinking when I see Logan’s name. Quickly, I silence the call, sending it straight to voicemail.

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