Page 86 of Heartbeat

The letters on the yellow square seemed to slow dance with the unbroken pace of the water drifting down the glass. I pulled it from the window and stuck it to the back of my phone. I was keeping that note.

Just as I did, I heard the sound of keys clattering and the front door opening. I was going to get up, but as I took a look at myself, I considered that it might be Ethan’s father, and the thought of bumping into him while wearing nothing but his son’s pants wasn’t exactly the first impression I wished to make. So I grabbed that duvet and held it up to my neck, having no memory of how my underwear and T-shirt seemed to have been lost during the night, or any idea where they might’ve ended up. Thankfully, it wasn’t long until I heard Ethan’s footsteps coming from the hall.

“Look who’s up,” a happy Ethan said as he carried two coffees and a bag that exuded the scent of cinnamon. “How did you sleep?”

“Uncharacteristically well,” I said, dropping the duvet to my waist and resting both hands on my lap. “You?”

“I have to admit, I watched you sleep for a bit.” He placed the coffee and paper bag on his dresser and began casually undressing.

“You did?” I watched as he pulled his T-shirt over his head before unbuttoning his worn-out blue jeans.

“Uh-huh. Now, don’t worry. I didn’t take an unusual amount of time doing it. I’m not a freak.”

I smiled.

“It’s just that I thought it was a fluke. The first time you slept with me, it was like you were comatose.”

I rolled my eyes. “Nice.”

He chuckled, moving the clothes on the floor with his feet, trying to find his sweatpants. He gave up and grabbed the coffee and the bag and came over to bed in nothing but his gray boxer briefs.

“But apparently that’s really how you sleep,” he said, amazed. “It’s so relaxing to watch.” He handed me the bag.

I proceeded to open it and was surprised by him leaning in to kiss me hello. Just a quick kiss, but he did it in a way that felt like an old habit, a reflex.

“So, I got blueberry, Asiago, chocolate, plain, and cinnamon raisin,” he said, checking off the flavors on his fingers. “I didn’t know your stance on raisins, and I started getting nervous ’cause I didn’t know what kind of bagel you’d like, so I just—”

“—ordered one of everything they had?”

“Pretty much.” He crossed his legs and straightened the patch of duvet separating us.

“I actually like raisins,” I told him.

That got me another smile, and it seemed like the wrong time to tell him I didn’t really do breakfast, so I’d gladly eat the whole bag, if necessary.

“Now, for the real important part—the coffee I almost certainly got wrong.”

“Is it iced?” I asked.

He immediately went from looking excited to looking utterly defeated. “No.”

“Then you did good. Anything but iced coffee is fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Iced coffee is tea. If I want tea, I’ll have some tea.”

“How about a cappuccino with very little foam?” he said, handing me the cup.

“Perfect.” I smiled.

“I thought I’d better go with a classic.”

He looked so relieved. “Go on,” he said, taking a sip of his salted caramel mocha that I was later going to find out he drank about four a day of. “Which do you want first?”

“Um, I think I’ll go with the Asiago. Want half?” I split it in two.

He nodded and reached out to take the smaller half.

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