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I exhale, watching as he moves into the living room, grabbing a throw pillow and tossing it onto the couch like he's done this before. Like this is normal.

It isn't.

But I don't stop him.

I don't saystay.

I don't sayI don't want you to leave.

Instead, I carry my plate to the sink, wash it in silence, and pretend that Liam Carter sleeping on my couch doesn't make my entire apartment feel different.

And I definitely don't acknowledge the part of me that wonders what it would be like if he didn't have to.

6

LIAM

The couch is a joke.

I don't sleep. I lie here, staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft drone of the white noise machine coming from Ava's bedroom, and trying not to think about the fact that she's just a few feet away. That if I got up, if I walked down the hall, if I pushed open that door?—

Nope. Not going there.

I run a hand over my face and shift onto my back, the couch springs protesting beneath me. It's not uncomfortable, exactly. Ava's apartment is too charming for that. The throw blanket she gave me is soft, the pillow smells faintly of whatever shampoo she uses, and there's something about the quiet of this space that should be peaceful.

Unfortunately, peace isn't in the room with me tonight because all I can think about is the way she looked at me before she went to bed.

Like she didn't want me to leave. Like she almost—almost—asked me to stay.

And I would have.

God help me, I would have.

Damn it, I need a distraction. Coffee. Coffee will do.

I groan as I push up from the couch, my spine crackling like a bonfire. Terrible idea. My neck is stiff, my back feels like I spent the night in a cement mixer, and every joint in my body is staging a quiet rebellion. I rub a hand over my face, yawn so hard my jaw pops, and figure I might as well admit defeat. Sleep isn't happening.

Barefoot, I make my way to the window, pressing a palm to the glass, cool against my skin. Outside, the city is caught in that strange, weightless moment before dawn—deep indigo fading into sleepy purples, the streets empty, the world hushed. It's the kind of sky that makes you feel like you should be thinking about something profound. I try.

Nothing comes.

I sigh, watching my breath cloud faintly on the glass. It's too early for philosophy. Too early for anything, really—except maybe coffee and regret.

Still, the quiet is nice. The kind of nice I don't often get. The kind that settles in my bones, makes me feel like, for just a second, I don't have to be anywhere else.

The place suits her—small but warm, colorful in a way that feels effortless. There are fairy lights strung along the bookshelves, an old record player in the corner, and a mess of notebooks scattered across the coffee table. Lived-in. Comfortable.

The kind of place that doesn't have room for someone like me.Although… with the right person…

I shake off the thought as I find the coffee maker, rifling through cabinets until I track down the beans. Grinding them by hand gives me something to focus on, something to keep my mind from straying to the sound of her shifting under the covers in the other room.

A door creaks open.

I glance over my shoulder just as Ava stumbles into the kitchen, looking like she fought a war in her sleep and lost.

Her hair is a mess, her pajama shorts are riding up one thigh, and the oversized T-shirt she's wearing is slipping off one shoulder, exposing a stretch of bare skin that makes my already sleepless night feel like a terrible idea.

She squints at me, voice thick with sleep. "What… Why are you awake?"