In the morning, I’m actually stunned to see that Essie is still in my bed. A lazy smile drifts over my face when I open my eyes. She’s not cuddling with me anymore—she’s moved over to the other side of the bed, but she didn’t leave. It’s gotta count for something, right?
We fell asleep spooning and I held her in my arms, tucked in close to my body. She’d felt so good pressed up against me. I’d drifted off into a restful sleep. And I wake up feeling better than I have in a long time. Go figure.
I adjust my morning wood and watch as Essie blinks open one eye, then the other.
“Hey,” she says, voice sleepy.
“Hey,” I return, my own voice coming out deep and rough.
“Sorry.” She sits up, and rubs one hand over her hair. It’s an absolute mess and I kind of love her like this. Sleepy and soft.
