Part 5
I’m leafing through a magazine at the kitchen table when Tobin finally comes downstairs, dressed in an old T-shirt and a thin pair of boxer shorts. His curls are disheveled and he blinks owlishly in the sunlight falling through the open windows, but when he sees me he smiles through a yawn and pads over to sit beside me on the bench. “Good morning,” I say, surprised at how glad I am to see him. He slips his arms around my waist and snuggles close to me, resting his head on my shoulder. It amazes me how comfortable we are with each other all of a sudden, but maybe Naphalie is right, maybe I’m not whole without him. “Do you want something to eat?”
He shakes his head. “Last night I didn’t think I’d get to sleep,” he tells me, his voice throaty because he just woke up. “I kept checki
