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Things with Beckett after our little argument had been fine.

Like all things, I swept it under the rug.

We had pizza, teased, and watched our show until it was way later than either of us should have gone to bed.

The next morning I realized Beckett pulled an all-nighter.

It was then that I realized he didn’t sweep things under the rug like me.

Beckett dealt with things. And the way he dealt with me was to spoil me rotten without me even realizing he was doing it.

He bought pizza, sacrificed his study time to spend time with me, and in turn had to sacrifice his sleep time to study.

I felt horrible when I realized, so I made an awesome breakfast with bacon—something I hate cooking—before school.

Beckett had made his love for bacon clear, but who likes to cook something that spits burning pieces of pain at you?

And worse, bacon is a morning thing, so you’re not exactly starting your day off right by making the stuff.

Unless you’ve got a thing for pain, then a pan of bacon spitting its fire on the stove is the perfect way to start the day.

Regardless, I cooked the bacon, and I cooked it for the man who sacrificed sleep for me. I cooked it, and to my sheer surprise, I loved it.

I loved it because Beckett walked into the kitchen after his shower looking like a model, with a gaze of sheer delight. He tilted his head up slightly, sniffing the air, before letting out a low, appreciative moan.

“Peanut,” he groaned deep and low. “You’re the best.”

I’m the best. I’m the best. The. Best! The man had no idea how that felt to hear. He had no idea how my insides melted in that way I tried so hard to stop.

He had no idea . . .

“Grab a plate,” I returned, gesturing to the pan of scrambled eggs and bacon now in a bowl on the counter. “Hash browns are in the microwave.”

“Heaven,” long fingers plucked a piece of bacon from the bowl. “Have I told you you’re an angel?”

“You don’t need to tell me I’m awesome.” I tried, and probably failed to play down the way his words made me feel. “I already know.”

Beckett only laughed. “Thanks for this, really.”

“It was a long night for you, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t sleep,” I said, adding, “did you?”

Whiskey colored eyes met mine and then he shook his head. “No.”

“Why did you spend so much time with me if you had other things to do?”

Drawing in a deep breath, Beckett looked contemplative. I wondered if I was going to get the truth out of him. And then I wondered if he weren’t telling the truth, would I even know?

“I figured you needed me.”

“I didn’t.” The denial came automatically.

He lifted his chin. “Yeah, you did. We argued. I hadn’t realized we argued, but we did. When I realized what you thought, I made an effort to make it better between us. Your happiness is important to me, Amara.”

I raised a brow “My happiness?”

His eyes warmed and my heart flipped. “You were happy last night. There was no smile or laughter, but you were happy.”

“I was?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know?” It was my turn to lift my chin, but when I did it, it was in defiance.

“Your eyes gave you away, they always give you away.” My breath snagged, but he continued. “Last night they told me I made you happy.”

The man was determined to break me. “If you don’t eat soon you’ll be late.”

He grinned in that cocky delicious way he did. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

I said nothing as I poured my coffee and filled my plate with the breakfast that spit fire at me first thing. I said nothing, but my heart was saying all kinds of things as it fluttered and danced like a wild thing in my chest.

I ate in silence and Beckett ate with a grin that never slipped.

But silent or not, I was mentally cognizant enough to know that like it or not, I was slipping into like for Beckett Davis. I was slipping into like, and trust, and happiness.

I was slipping into sweet.

The rest of the week raced by in a whirl of class, work, and studying.

I’d seen Beckett, of course, but we hadn’t watched an episode of our show since the night he picked me up from the Library where I’d been visiting Raina.

By visiting Raina, I mean I was moaning and groaning about the man I lived with.

And then the man picked me up in his huge Alberta Man truck, giving me a night that obliterated every moan and groan I’d given to Raina.

By the time Friday night came and Beckett proposed we watch an episode before bed, I’d thought for sure he was nearing the point of dropping like a fly.

The skin under his eyes had turned a dark shade of purple in evidence of his late nights studying.

He looked exhausted and even his teasing grins came less.

I didn’t like it; seeing Beckett so tired, but I had to admit that I loved spending time with him.

When I was with him, I wasn’t so alone.

When I was with Beckett, I felt safe.

So I didn’t tell him I was tired. I didn’t send him to bed because it was the best thing for him to do after the week of insanity he’d had. I didn’t close my door and slide into my sheets alone.

Instead, I proposed we get into our jammies and bring our blankets out to the couch. I proposed we watched not one episode, but instead challenged we get through a season.

Not even I had the juice for an entire season of Game of Thrones, no matter how deeply I loved the series. But I challenged it. I did something I never imagined I would do just to spend more time feeling not so alone—and safe.

I manipulated.

When Beckett dropped his pillow down on the leather, I thanked the couch lords that Beckett chose to buy a giant sectional. I was already stretched out on the long arm with my blanket cocooning me.

“See you stole the best spot,” he accused, a slow grin forming.

“I gave you the whole couch. Now you can lie down and relax.”

“Now I can lie down and sleep.”

“You’re that tired?” I knew he was, but still I asked.

“I’ll make it.”

I felt guilty, but I couldn’t bring myself to stand and walk to my room. I missed spending time with him and I just wanted to feel not so alone tonight. I didn’t know why. I honestly didn’t have a reason, but I just couldn’t turn away from him. Not now. Not tonight.

So I snuggled deeper into my cocoon of blankets as Beckett settled on the couch beside me, his head close to my lap where he’d dropped his pillow.

By the second episode, my eyes were burning and Beckett was asleep.

I decided as I hit the power on the remote and blackness flooded the room that I wasn’t going to sneak into my room like I should.

I was going to cuddle down on the couch and share Beckett’s pillow with him.

I was going to stay where I felt happy, and safe, and not so alone.

I was going to stay with Beckett.

I didn’t think on it any more than that. And as soon as my head sunk into the soft cushion of his pillow with the steady pulls of his breaths in my ear, I fell asleep.

For the first time in years, I didn’t wake afraid. I didn’t see the cold blue eyes I’d once thought were beautiful. I didn’t dream of Jayden. Not once.

I slept sound, and safe, and in the company of a man I trusted. For the first night in years, the ghost from my past didn’t haunt me in the dark of the night. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t alone.