Chapter 22 #2
It was normal to be this distracted by the situation.
He’d been her first kiss. There were memories.
At one point, they’d talked about a future together.
He’d been a year ahead of her, but she’d planned to follow as soon as she graduated.
They’d get an apartment together in Boston, see more of the world.
And then a few months into her senior year, he’d sent her that letter and they were over.
Just like that. He’d realized they were too different.
That he wanted his freedom now that he was in college.
She should make her own plans. He’d wanted a clean break, no contact, and she’d respected that.
With him right next to her now, it seemed to have happened both in another lifetime and not that long ago all at once.
She turned another page.
“Okay, so this is a little weird, right?” Owen said out of the blue, cutting off her thoughts.
Frankie glanced at him. “So weird. I can still take the floor.”
“No way.” He pressed his lips together, pausing. “Weird doesn’t have to mean bad. I’m not sorry you’re here.”
Her heart somersaulted. “No?”
His gaze met hers. “No.”
She nodded, eyes returning to her book. Was it about an abandoned mansion? A florist? A florist finding an abandoned mansion?
“I’m setting my alarm for eight,” Owen said, reaching over to turn his light out. “Is that okay with you?”
“A-okay.” Frankie shot him a smile while internally scolding her chipper tone. Why were normal words suddenly failing her? “Goodnight,” she said, turning off her own light.
“Sleep tight,” he responded.
And she intended to. So tight on her own side of the bed, not moving a muscle.
Yellow light danced across Frankie’s eyelids somewhere between sleep and wakefulness the next morning.
There was a gap in the curtains, and a stream of sunbeams fell straight across her face, calling her out of the warm cocoon where dreamless hours had turned the leaf on a new day.
She lay curled up on her side with her hands tucked under her chin and the covers wrapped tightly across her shoulder.
No, not the covers. Something heavier.
Consciousness fought its way to the surface, and she blinked her eyes open, squinting as sleep fully fell away.
Her even breathing was echoed by that of another—Owen’s heartbeats only millimeters away from where her forehead was resting against his chest. It was his arm cradling her, not the sheets.
Sometime during the night, they must have both turned toward the other and ended up in this embrace, where his larger body nestled hers, the two of them fitting perfectly together.
This very comfortable, comforting embrace.
Frankie listened to his breathing, assuring herself that he was still asleep, while she contemplated what to do. She could move and risk waking him, or she could stay and close her eyes again, allowing the familiarity of his warm skin to lull her back to sleep until the alarm went off.
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than it did just that, and Owen stirred awake. She was so close to him that she could feel alertness coursing through his muscles as he came to, and she had just enough time to regret the loss of this small carved-out piece of stillness before he moved.
She feigned sleep, wanting to avoid the awkwardness that was sure to follow as long as possible.
A brushing noise against the pillow somewhere above her head suggested he’d turned his face to the ceiling, and she waited and waited for realization to land.
He’d jump away from her, maybe let out a small curse to scold himself. It would be so Owen.
What she wasn’t prepared for was the feeling of gentle lips pressing against the crown of her head before he carefully extracted himself from her, and how unwelcome the cooler air was that swept in to take his place.
“Frankie,” he said gently. “Time to wake up.”
“Hmm?” She rolled over onto her back in what she hoped was a convincing display of regaining consciousness. “Already?” She blinked up at him, stretching her arms above her head.
“Like a cat,” he said, smiling down at her. He rubbed a hand over his face, then turned away from her to peer behind the curtain. “Looks sunnier today. Did you sleep okay?”
It was an innocent question, but because she knew what she knew, its answer held more importance. “Yeah, great,” she said. “You?”
“Better than I have in a long time.”
He disappeared into the bathroom, leaving her to sit with those words on her own.
They probably didn’t mean anything. They’d accidentally slept a little closer than they’d intended, but everything had been completely chaste.
Even that little kiss at the end. Maybe it was like a thank you for the good night’s sleep he’d had.
“All yours,” he said, coming back out. “Are you showering?”
Frankie swung her legs over the side of the bed and yawned. What if she told him she’d liked waking up in his arms? The situation felt so oddly domestic that she could almost fool herself into thinking they were a couple again. After all these years.
“I probably should,” she said. “Do we have time?”
“Oh yeah. I can head out for coffee and something to eat while you do your thing if you want.”
They decided that was the best course of action. City hall would open at nine, and Owen’s plan would put them there on time.
The shower was restorative, allowing purpose and common sense back into the nooks and crannies of Frankie’s mind that had been muddled by skin-to-skin contact and nostalgia.
By the time they’d had breakfast and were ready to check out, she had all but forgotten the whole incident, and that was for the best, she told herself.
While she was enjoying Owen’s company, she had too much else going on in her life to entertain whatever possibility was simmering beneath the surface where he was concerned, and she was certain he felt the same way.