Page 73 of The Cuddle Clause

She gave me a look that was somewhere between exhausted and amused. I loved that look.

“According to the roommate agreement,” I said solemnly, “you’re supposed towarnme before opening the door when I’m naked and vulnerable.”

She arched a brow. “Is that so?”

I clutched the blanket tighter around my waist. “Yes. Subsection four. Privacy Clause. You broke at least three clauses.”

“Three?”

“Three minimum.” I sat up, grinning like a heathen. “That’s at least three cuddles. And an apology muffin. Full size. With cinnamon.”

She narrowed her eyes, but her lips twitched. “Youactuallykeep count?”

“I have a spreadsheet.”

That earned me a full laugh. She shook her head and flopped onto the arm of the couch beside me, dress hitching, revealing a stretch of thigh that made itveryhard to focus on my post-furnace complaint.

“God, you’re ridiculous,” she murmured.

“I’m delightful.”

“You’re something, all right.”

Her shoulder brushed mine, and I put my hand on her knee. Her head tipped slightly against mine like we’d been doing this for years instead of weeks. Like she’d always belonged in this apartment, barefoot and flushed and fighting back smiles.

Outside the window, the wind howled down the street. Inside, it was quiet and comfortable. Which scared the hell out of me. Because the more I looked at her, the more I realized I wasn’t acting. And the second she looked back?

I knew she wasn’t either.

I didn’t say it out loud, but I could feel the words coiled somewhere under my ribs, just waiting to break free.

Stay.

Don’t run.

Please don’t let this be the part where we pretend it didn’t mean anything.

“You cold?” Maggie asked.

I shook my head.

But yeah, I was freezing—not from the heat being out, but from the fear that if I moved too fast or said too much, this whole thing would vanish.

I pulled the blanket higher, leaned into her just enough to make it count, and whispered, “Roommate agreement says you owe me a muffin.”

She smiled.

I could live off that smile for days.

Chapter 19

Maggie

I was wrappedin three and still couldn’t shake the chill. The apartment held that brittle cold that didn’t just bite at your skin but settled deep, like it was trying to carve space inside your bones. Every breath I took came out in a fog. Every limb felt heavy.

The only space heater sat humming beside the bed, its soft orange glow making it look like the world had died down to embers.

Roman had insisted I take it.