Page 62 of What Remains

A few seconds later, an overhead light snaps on.

My shoulders jerk back and my heart leaps into my throat. I whirl around to see . . .

Oh.

Hi.

(Pretty sure that was said in my head.)

“Why are you up this early?” Easton asks as he heads over, dressed in all black from head to toe. Black sweats, tee, ball cap, and Nikes. He rests a hand on the metal counter beside him, keeping his distance.

“I couldn’t sleep. Not well.” No need to tell him why. He knows. “Got a couple hours maybe. Didn’t want to wake anyone to make a cup of joe, so I came here.”

“You could’ve come to my room.” His mouth quirks. “Stolen my joe like normal.”

My brain flashes back to when I took his U-M mug. I’m not ready to give it back yet. “Seeing as though you’re here, too, looks like I’d have wasted my time.”

“There weren’t any decent Nespresso pods in my room.” He covers a yawn with the back of his hand, which of course triggers me to yawn as well.

He smiles, and it’s warm and friendly and just what I need. “Looks like you should still be sleeping.”

“Samesies.” I wink. “But seems like neither of us is pulling that off.”

He chuckles at me calling him out, nodding his head in agreement. “Your dad stood post outside your bedroom, I assume? I’m surprised he let you come down here alone.”

“Well, he more so slept outside my room. On the couch. But yeah, I had to sneak past him, activating super-stealth mode.”

The toaster pops, and I jump a little. I fumble the too-hot bagel and drop it onto the counter with a curse before grabbing the cream cheese to slather it on.

“More cheese than bread.”

“As it should be.” I set aside the knife and offer him half.

“No, thanks, I’m good.” He pats his stomach. “You know me, coffee is my breakfast.”

“Yet you give me crap the second I try to pull that off.”

“Of course,” he grunts with affection. “You need to eat. Protein. Some carbs. It’s good for you.”

“Mm-hmm.” I roll my eyes, earning a quick smile from him as he moves around the machine, making my coffee exactly the way I’d have ordered it.

“My very own barista,” I say around a mouthful of bagel. I glance into the mug he hands me, feigning disappointment. “What, no pretty flower or heart shape?”

He takes it from me and sets it down. “I’m good, but not that good.”

My smile falters as he steps just close enough for me to catch his scent. Not cologne, but the hotel’s white-tea-and-vanilla-jojoba body wash clinging warm to his skin. I inhale without meaning to, holding it in my lungs. Then he surprises me by leaning in, placing his thumb at the corner of my mouth.

“Cream cheese.” He drags his thumb along the underside of my lip, and it takes all my control not to lick him. His gaze is locked on my mouth like he’s working with a scalpel and performing surgery.

“Thanks,” I manage when he finally pulls back and wipes his thumb on a nearby towel. “Did you, um, see Malachi before you came in?”

“Yeah. He didn’t give me the heads-up you were here.”

Something tells me that was on purpose. Malachi, the secret matchmaker. Perfect.

As he starts making his own drink, I hop onto the counter and take a sip of mine. One pump of vanilla and two splashes of milk, just the way I like it.

“How’d the medical exam go last night?” he asks while the coffee brews. “We haven’t been alone since⁠—”