New York, New Year, New You by Rachael Bloome

Author:Rachael Bloome
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Secret Garden Press

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

When I wake the next morning, something feels different. For starters, I’ve never slept so soundly in all my life. I’m snug and cozy, cocooned in a velvety throw blanket. Wilson snores softly by my side and— My heart stutters as my fingertips traverse a hard surface. A hard, softly rising surface.

I ease my eyes open, peeking beneath my lashes, barely daring to believe my own twenty-twenty vision. I’m curled against the warm contours of Ethan Delaney, my arm draped across his chest. His breathing is slow and steady, his lips slightly curled at the edges, hinting at a smile. There’s a book askew on his lap, and I realize we must have fallen asleep last night while reading.

I hold my breath, not sure what to do. The logical part of my brain is saying I should move. I should quickly remove myself from the far-too-intimate position. I definitely shouldn’t remain cuddled against him, savoring every small, scintillating sensation, pretending we live in a reality where we could fall asleep in each other’s arms every night. But my heart? My heart threatens bodily harm if I so much as move a millimeter.

For better or worse, the decision is made for me.

The loud clang of a cupboard slamming shut startles Ethan awake. He bolts upright, dazed and unaware that he’s inadvertently shoved me aside. His eyes are wide and unfocused, his hair adorably disheveled as he tries to discern his surroundings.

Meanwhile, Brynn continues to clamor in the kitchen, making coffee with twice the necessary volume. I’m going to guess all the ruckus has something to do with me and Ethan, and my heart sinks. On a surface level, I knew she didn’t love the idea of Ethan dating one of her friends. But if I’m honest, deep down, buried somewhere beside my most naive hopes and dreams, I thought I might be an exception.

Clearly, I was wrong.

“Jeez, Brynn,” Ethan groans, stretching his arms overhead. I try not to notice the way his T-shirt rides up, revealing a flash of his toned abs. “Are you making coffee or remodeling the kitchen? You’re making enough noise for a construction crew.”

She glowers and switches on the burr grinder. The cacophony of cracking coffee beans fills the air, stirring Wilson and Whiskers awake.

With the glorious moment of waking up in each other’s arms thoroughly relegated to the past, we throw on our coats and boots and take the “kids” outside to use the bathroom. As we cross the courtyard, my soles squish into the soggy earth. The cold air stings my cheeks but smells pleasantly sweet after the rain.

Ethan doesn’t say much as we huddle side by side in the dog run, waiting for Wilson and Whiskers, and neither do I. But even in our silence, there seems to be this unspoken connection, a shift in the energy between us. I wish I could read his mind, to know where I stand, where we stand. But what would be the point? I’ll be leaving soon.

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