Chapter 3: Wyatt
Despite his best efforts, the bed creaked. He hated his side of the bed for that very reason. He normally wouldn’t have been so hasty to get out of bed, but a green light was flashing on his silenced phone and he wanted to answer it as far from Oliver’s sleeping form as possible.
“Hello?” The number wasn’t one he recognized but the voice on the other end was familiar.
“Wyatt? Did I wake you?”
“No. I was up.” He was glad he and Margaret, the woman who ran the local temp agency, were not using video chat. She’d have seen the messy mop of romantic curls cut close on the sides but quirky and floppy on top sticking up on the right side and how he was hopping from one foot to another trying to stay warm in the freezing hallway clad only in his black boxer briefs. “What’s goi
