He’s asleep on the couch when I get home after my shift, and if I ease open the door and sneak in as silently as I can, hoping he’ll be there, he’ll never know.
My stomach settles when I see him curled up on his side with a thin sheet pulled up all the way to his nose. Only his eyes and unruly mop of hair are visible. I allow myself to watch him for a few seconds. When a shiver racks his body, I knit my eyebrows together.
Is he cold?
I pad into my bedroom and grab a thick, snuggly blanket from the closet, and spread it over him carefully so he won’t wake up. I resist the urge to brush away the bangs from his face, and instead tiptoe my way to the kitchen, where I prepare my after-work fix of hot chocolate as quietly as I can.
“Morning.”
His rough, sleepy voice makes me jump. I turn ar
