"We have to," I murmured, feeling sleep beginning to tug at the edges of my consciousness. "It's how we survive."
I turned onto my side, facing away from him, and felt him do the same. Back to back, not touching, but somehow connected by the confessions we'd shared in the darkness.
"Goodnight, Griffin," I said, my voice already heavy with impending sleep.
"Goodnight, Lila," he replied. "Sweet dreams."
As I drifted off, I realized something that should have terrified me but somehow didn't: for the first time in years, Iwasn't in control of what tomorrow would bring. And maybe, just maybe, that wasn't entirely a bad thing.
The last thing I registered before sleep claimed me was the steady rhythm of Griffin's breathing, a soothing counterpoint to my own. Our backs nearly touching, separated by mere inches and seemingly insurmountable differences. Yet in that moment, those differences didn't seem quite so insurmountable after all.
We were both just trying to navigate a chaotic world the best way we knew how. His way involved rushing into danger to save others. Mine involved carefully constructed plans to save myself.
But tonight, in this unexpected detour from my perfectly planned life, I'd found something I hadn't realized I'd been missing: understanding. Not judgment or ridicule, but simple, genuine understanding.
And as I surrendered to sleep, I couldn't help wondering what else this unplanned journey might bring.
Chapter Four
Griffin
I woke to the insistent beeping of my alarm and the unfamiliar weight of someone pressed against my back. For a disorienting moment, I couldn't remember where I was or who I was with. Then it all came rushing back—the breakdown, the road trip, the motel with only one room available.
Lila.
Sometime during the night, we'd shifted from our careful back-to-back positions. Now she was curled against me, her forehead resting between my shoulder blades, one arm draped over my waist. Her breathing was deep and even, still lost in sleep despite my alarm's persistent buzzing.
I reached carefully for my phone, trying not to disturb her as I silenced the noise. Six o'clock—right on schedule. We needed to get back on the road soon if we were going to make good time to Foxfire Valley, and I knew she was anxious about her rescheduled meeting at Sparkling Oak.
I should have woken her immediately. Should have slipped out of bed and started getting ready. Instead, I found myself lying perfectly still, reluctant to break the moment. There was something oddly comforting about her presence, about the trust implied in the way she'd unconsciously sought me out during the night.
Last night's conversation replayed in my mind—her quiet confession about her childhood, about why control mattered so much to her. It had shifted something between us, transforming her from an uptight stranger into someone I understood, someone I respected. Someone I wanted to know better, despite my better judgment.
The morning light filtered through the thin curtains, casting the room in a soft golden glow. I could feel Lila beginning to stir, her breathing pattern changing as she drifted toward consciousness. Then suddenly she went rigid, clearly realizing our position.
She jerked away so quickly she nearly fell off the bed, scrambling to put distance between us.
"I'm so sorry," she blurted, her face flushing a deep crimson that spread down her neck and disappeared beneath her silk camisole. "I didn't mean to—I must have—in my sleep—"
"Good morning to you too, sunshine," I said, unable to suppress a grin at her flustered state. With her hair tousled from sleep and cheeks burning red, she looked adorably rumpled. Nothing like the polished, controlled woman from yesterday.
"I don't usually—" She stopped, took a deep breath, and tried again. "I apologize for invading your personal space."
I couldn't help but laugh at the formality. "Relax, Lila. People move in their sleep. It's not a federal offense."
She brushed a strand of hair from her face, still looking mortified. "Right. Of course. Very logical."
"Besides," I added, stretching my arms overhead and enjoying the way her eyes darted to my bare chest before quickly looking away, "you're pretty comfortable to sleep with."
That earned me a glare, though the effect was somewhat diminished by her persistent blush. "I'm going to get ready," she announced, grabbing her toiletry bag and a change of clothes before disappearing into the bathroom.
I chuckled to myself as the door shut firmly behind her. Who would have thought the uptight wine expert could be so endearing when flustered? I'd spent most of yesterday deliberately trying to get under her skin, enjoying the flash of annoyance in those expressive eyes whenever I pushed her buttons. But this morning's reaction was something different—something softer, more vulnerable. And I found I liked it just as much, if not more.
Dangerous territory, Rhodes. Very dangerous territory.
I got up and pulled a fresh t-shirt from my duffel, along with jeans and a flannel shirt. By the time Lila emerged from the bathroom, I was fully dressed and had packed up my things.
She looked put-together again, her armor of professionalism firmly back in place. Dark jeans, a silky blouse in deep burgundy, and low heels that somehow looked both practical and elegant. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and her makeup was subtle but flawless.
