Page 53 of Say You'll Never Let Go

“Do you ever have good dreams?”

“Sometimes,” she admits.

“Tell me one?”

It’s easy to land on one of her favorites. “I’ve dreamed of us. I wake up and find you making me coffee. We drink it together while watching the sunrise. Somewhere pretty, like a beach or in the mountains. It’s a little slice of life if none of this, the whole turn, had ever happened.” She let more spill out than intended. Now it feels like she confessed to wanting a domestic life with her best friend. “I mean, I’m not saying that things would have been like that. It’s weird. Dreams are weird.”

“I think about that sometimes, too. If things could have been different if none of this happened. Different for us.”

Just like that, the weight against her is gone, and he moves to leave, surprising her with the sudden shift.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“Gonna let you get some sleep. I’m good now. I’ll be alright,” he grunts.

“Stay here.”

“You know it ain’t safe. Can’t get used to it.”

“I think it will be this time. You already had the dream. You told me about it. It might leave you alone the rest of the night.”

He watches her cautiously. “Just…sleep like this all night?”

They’ve done it before in the blue house, but he was distraught, and it wasn’t a conscious choice.

“Mhmm. All night. However you want,” she agrees.

“Is that whatyouwant?”

She nods.

“How?”

He likes knowing the specifics before agreeing to things, but she’s not prepared for her shy reaction. “Like we were a moment ago? That was good.”

It’s awkward when it shouldn’t be, but she did just ask him to sleep with her, after all. It’s more than worth it for the rush of endorphins when he presses himself to her again.

“If I’m too heavy, you gotta tell me.”

“You’re not. I like it.”

He’s her own personal weighted blanket, and that feels better than it has a right to. She may be caught in unwanted fantasies at first, but it doesn’t take long to drift off once they’re tangled together.

* * *

When Kara wakes, she is alone. The spot beside her is cold and the closet is empty.

She yells his name at the top of her lungs, irrationally about to fly out the front door in her search, before hearing his voice from the kitchen.

“In here,” he calls back, with the dog barking in confirmation.

Sure enough, she finds him by the stove, looking like the embodiment of her best dream. The dog sits at his feet, watching hopefully for any breakfast tidbits, tilting his head with each turn of the spatula.

“Hey. You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah. I just got scared. I thought…”

He frowns. “Thought I left?”