I swallow, still feeling the ghost of his lips on mine. “I need us to stay friends. Doing more could ruin that.”
He nods again but doesn’t look away. And for a moment, I swear I see something in his eyes, something that makes my chest ache.
Trying to lighten the mood, I smile and say in a softer tone, “Meatball wants oatmeal cookies.”
The mention of our unborn child’s silly nickname has the exact effect I expected, softening Rasmus’ expression. “Then I better get them some.”
I stand and grab our plates for something to do. “I’ll clean up.”
He nods and goes to get the cookies, leaving me to catch my breath. But all my mind is screaming is that I should be back in his arms because nothing about that felt wrong. Only right.
23
I NEVER SAW THIS PLOT TWIST COMING, BUT I’M EXCITED FOR WHAT’S TO COME
HAISLEY
Later that evening, I lie in bed staring at the guest room ceiling but sleep refuses to come. I turn over for the hundredth time, an annoyed sigh leaving my lips. My body is exhausted, but my mind won’t shut the fuck up. I think about the baby, my mother, Rasmus, and all the people he’s lost. And how our grief connects us in a more profound way.
The weight of it all presses against my chest, tightening like a vice. Squeezing my eyes shut, I will myself to sleep, but it’s useless. The restless ache inside me only grows stronger with every passing minute. It’s a low hum under my skin, an itch I can’t scratch, a pull I can’t ignore any longer.
It’s overwhelming how much comfort I found in his arms earlier and how right it felt despite everything telling me it shouldn’t be.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I push back the blankets and climb out of bed. I need to see him. Feel him next to me.
The wooden floor is cold beneath my bare feet as I move toward the door, pausing to steady my breathing. Once it’sunder control, I step into the hallway connecting the bedrooms.
Each step feels heavier than the previous one, my pulse drumming a nervous beat. This might be a stupid move, especially since I was the one who keeps pushing him away.
I stand at his door for a few minutes, convincing myself this is a good idea and knock softly.
There’s shuffling and a few beats later, the door swings open. Wearing only gray sweatpants, with his hair a mess, Rasmus blinks at me, still half-asleep and adorably disoriented.
I stare at his naked tattooed chest, my gaze tracing the patterns I once memorized with my fingertips. He’s been the star of my wildest dreams since our night together, but he's something else standing here, sleepy and unguarded. Something raw. Something real.
Fuck, this truly was a terrible idea.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice rough.
I suddenly feel so silly. “I—I couldn’t sleep.”
His expression softens, and he steps back, silently inviting me in. I hesitate but walk past him. The room smells like him—manly and warm with hints of his woodsy aftershave. It makes me feel safe. Too safe. The kind of safe that makes you start imagining a future together. The kind of safe that makes it hurt even more when the world reminds you it was temporary.
He shuts the door gently. “Everything okay?”
I shift on my feet, chewing the inside of my cheek. The answer is simpleno, but the word is lodged in my throat.
“I’m overthinking and couldn’t sleep,” I finally say.
“Overthinking about...?”
“Everything. The baby. My mother. You.”
His brow creases, but he doesn’t press. “I’m tired, but we can talk if you want. Or do you want to lie down with me?”
Something in my chest clenches at his understanding and his willingness to make space for me without asking too many questions.
“I don’t even know what I want. I just didn’t want to be alone with my head anymore.”
