Page 161 of His Reckoning

I curl against his chest, exhausted in the best possible way. His arm rests loosely around my waist.

My eyelids grow heavy.

“Kayla?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Your mom’s wrong.”

I smile against his shoulder. “I know.”

Sleep pulls me under a moment later.

And for once … Sawyer doesn’t tell me to leave.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Sawyer

It takes me a week to realize this has stopped being temporary.

It’s probably intentional because if I think too hard about this, I’m going to have to admit things I’ve been avoiding.

Like why Kayla has slept in my bed every night this week or why I haven’t asked her to stop.

The first night it happened, it felt like an accident. She’d fallen asleep after dinner, curled against me with her hair spread across my chest and her breathing slow and steady.

I told myself I’d move her eventually. Instead, I stayed exactly where I was.

The second night still felt less accidental, but the third night definitely wasn’t.

Now it’s Sunday morning, and she’s still here, tangled in the sheets beside me like she belongs—somehow, the world hasn’t ended yet.

I drag a hand down my face as I sit on the edge of the bed, deliberately avoiding looking back at the bed.

The longer I look, the harder it is to leave, which is exactly the kind of problem I try not to create for myself.

By the time I get out of the shower, she’s already up. The smell of coffee drifts through the apartment. When I walk into the kitchen, Kayla is standing in front of the open refrigerator, wearing one of my T-shirts and a pair of shorts.

Her hair is twisted up carelessly on top of her head while she studies the shelves like she’s trying to solve a complicated puzzle.

“You know,” I say, leaning against the counter, “normal people usually close the refrigerator door while they’re deciding.”

She glances over her shoulder. “I’m evaluating options.”

“You’ve been evaluating for three minutes.”

“Important decisions take time.”

She finally grabs a yogurt and shuts the door. “You’re very judgy for someone who just woke up.”

“I’ve been awake for two hours.”

“Show-off.”

I watch her move around the kitchen like she’s done it a hundred times, like she lives here … permanently. That thought should concern me more than it does.

Especially because it doesn’t feel strange anymore.