Page 90 of The Catch

A long breath of relief escaped her, and she trembled against his chest. When she’d caught her breath, she ran the back of her hand over her eyes. “So, now what?”

“I guess we try to go back to where we were.” He pushed her hair out of her eyes, kissing her forehead.

“Can we do that? After all of this?”

“We have to. It’s been hell without you. Let’s just go back to being happy and take the rest step by step.”

“Okay,” she said, nodding and wiping at her eyes, then kissing him again. “Yes. We’ll go back.”

He didn’t want to let go, but his muscles were screaming from the exertion. “I need to lie down,” he said. “Come on. You’re not sleeping up here tonight.”

“Yeah,” she said, finally cracking a smile. “I’m not.”

The next morning, Josh woke to the familiar scent of coconut on his pillowcase. He closed his eyes and opened them a few more times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He wasn’t, though. Cat was still asleep behind him, her arm around his stomach and her knees pressed into the back of his.

His sheets were still damp with sweat, but instead of slick and clammy, his skin was finally dry and what felt like a normal temperature. His fever must have broken.

He rolled over in her arms, carefully untangling himself, and stood. He stretched his muscles, each one groaning from disuse, then headed to the bathroom. After brushing the taste of sleep and medicine out of his mouth, he cupped his hands under the cold water, gulping it like a crash survivor who’d stumbled upon a creek.

Cat was awake when he returned. Her hair had fallen halfway out of its ponytail, and she was still wearing just his pajama pants and her bra. He crawled back in and pressed himself against her, kissing her neck. He was definitely feeling better.

“You feel cooler,” she said when he let her go.

“Fever’s gone.”

A smile lit up her face at that. “Do you feel like eating?”

As if on cue, his stomach growled its disapproval at being forced to survive on broth and toast. “I’m starving.”

“I’ll make you breakfast, but I need more clothes.”

“You don’t really.” He ran his hands over her bare skin, relishing in her warmth now that he wasn’t sweating. “I like you just like this.”

She stopped him, pulling his fingers to her lips instead. “I’m cold, baby.”

Hearing her call him baby made him want to do things he knew he wasn’t up for yet. She was still being level-headed, though. He nipped at her shoulder as she wiggled away from him, and he followed her out of bed, just a little slower. “Take whatever you want,” he relented.

“Maybe I should leave a bag here,” she said. She tossed her head upside down, gathering her hair into a ball and tying it. “In case I’m ever here unexpectedly again. I can’t walk around all day in just your t-shirts.”

“I don’t mind if you do.” She laughed, but he could tell she wanted a real answer. “You can just take a drawer. Leave whatever you want.”Step by step, right? This was a step.

“Yeah?”

“I should be able to spare it,” he joked. “I don’t have a big wardrobe.” He wandered over to where she stood and wrapped his arms around her waist. Now that he’d given himself permission to touch her again, he couldn’t seem to stop. He stroked his fingers along her belly, nuzzling his face into her neck and breathing her in. This was right. She was back, and it seemed as though they could slip back into the comfortable way they fit together. Sure, they still had stuff to work through, but right then, it did feel like he had all of her. He could be happy wherever she was, now that he knew the alternative was unbearable.

She pulled a shirt over her head, then turned in his embrace and ran her fingers through his emerging beard. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get you some food.”

For the rest of the day, Cat was beside him. They lounged on the couch, kissed, made up until the sun went down again. He could close his eyes and imagine that she’d said yes when he’d first asked her to move in, and this was life—a quiet Sunday evening at home, together. But all too soon, he was reminded that wasn’t real.

Cat’s legs stirred underneath his cheek as he lie in her lap in the darkened living room. Her fingers left his hair and reached toward the ceiling in a reluctant stretch.

“I should head back,” she said, sounding exhausted by the thought.

He peeled himself from her warmth, pressing his thumb and index finger into his eyes to break them out of their near-sleep state. “Yeah, I figured that time was coming.” He stood, lifting their empty bowls that had been sitting on the coffee table since lunch.

They made their way to his bedroom after he dropped the dirty dishes off in the kitchen, and she picked up her clothes.

“You can keep the shirt,” he said, as she was about to pull it over her head. “You need something warmer?”

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