“Yeah, Button?”

“C’mere. You smell like sleep.”

He didn’t know what that meant, but he decided it was a good thing. After a moment’s hesitation, he tucked the covers over her, then crossed to the other side of the bed and lay on top of them.

He’d just stay here for a while until she fell asleep again. He’d practice some of the techniques Dr. Maddox had mentioned at their first appointment today—taking the time to arrange his thoughts and feelings, sinking into positive moments. He was supposed to write shit down, but he preferred to visualize, and the doc had said that was okay, too.

So Red lay back, closed his eyes, and thought about Chloe’s smile. About stir-fry and space cowboys. About feeling like himself. He counted the moments of clarity he’d teased from his messy mind today, and he was proud. He let himself feel good, good, good.

It was surprisingly easy.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

When he woke, the bedroom was bright. Birdsong and cold air floated through the open window, and Chloe was standing by her dresser in a towel.

This was an excellent way to wake up. “Hey, Chlo.”

She screeched, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “You’re awake!”

Her hair was dripping wet, her skin glistened with little water droplets, and the towel wrapped around her only hit midthigh. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “I’m awake.”

She made a strangled sort of noise and grabbed some stuff from the dresser. He looked away from her thighs long enough to notice she was holding a pile of clothes. Then he looked back at her thighs.

“Be a gentleman and close your eyes,” she sniffed.

“Do I have to?”

“Not anymore, because I am leaving.” She clutched her clothes to her towel-clad chest and rushed off toward the bathroom. Under the slick strands of her hair, he caught sight of something on her upper back, a pale rectangle that looked kind of like a bandage. No, he realized, it was like a giant nicotine patch. Maybe some kind of medication. Then she slammed the door shut.

He stood, ran a hand through his hair, and wondered how the hell he’d managed to fall asleep.

Abruptly, the bathroom door opened again, just a crack. Chloe called, “Do you still have my hair tie? I can’t find any of the others.”

He tugged it off his wrist and handed it through the slight gap in the door. “You feeling better?”

“Quite.”

“Details,” he ordered, though he expected she’d tell him to piss off.

Instead, after a pause, she said, “I’m still exhausted. But I’m not tired. That helps.” She shut the door. Her next words were muffled through the wood. “Thank you.”

You smell like sleep. “Anytime.”

When she came out again, he was sitting on the bed, trying not to look like a man who’d barely resisted the urge to snoop through everything she owned. It had been hard because this room was so Chloe, from the sci-fi-looking computer with two screens on her desk, to the pretty row of shoes tucked just under her bed. There was stuff everywhere: candles she’d never lit, fancy bottles of perfume she’d clearly never used, notebooks stacked in piles so high she’d surely never use those, either, and a thousand pictures of her family. It was adorable.

“Sorry about that,” she said, smoothing her hands over her skirt. It was sunshine yellow, with a thick white stripe at the bottom. Made her skin glow. Made him want to go over there on his knees. Her hair was up and sleek as glass, her glasses perfectly polished. “I meant to take my clothes into the bathroom with me, but I forgot.”

“I didn’t mind.” Understatement of the year.

She gave him a look. “I have a spare toothbrush, if you want it. You could also just go home. However, I thought I might make you breakfast, to say thank you for dinner.”

That took his attention away from her legs, which was no mean feat. “You want to make me breakfast?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. If you like eggs and toast, I am more than capable.”

“No, I just—” He just wasn’t used to women doing things for him. He did things for them, and that was it. That was how it worked. He ran a hand through his hair and realized that, apparently, that wasn’t how it worked anymore. “All right. I like eggs. Thanks.”

He found the spare toothbrush. Her bathroom shelf was full of products that matched: she bought the same brand and scent of shampoo and conditioner, body wash and moisturizer, because of course she did. She liked flowers, and strawberries. He added that carefully to the list of things he knew about Chloe Brown, a list that was longer than he’d ever expected it to be, but still not long enough. Maybe it would never be long enough.

Still, it was satisfying, as the morning went on, to add to that list again and again. First, it was Chloe makes great scrambled eggs. Then it was It feels good to wash dishes while Chloe dries. Finally he realized: Starting my day with Chloe feels like starting my day in front of a canvas.

When they finished washing up, Red had a smile on his face that he already knew would last until he went to bed that night. Then, all at once, he turned left, Chloe turned right, and they both moved at exactly the wrong time. Or maybe it was exactly the right time. It felt right, when she stumbled into him. It felt right, gripping her waist to steady her. It felt right, her hands pressing against his chest.

So right he didn’t move away.

She must be able to feel his heart pounding. He was surprised it wasn’t visible through his clothes. She tilted her head back to look at him, her lips parted. Was this how she’d look, just before he kissed her? He wanted to add that knowledge to the list.

She said, her voice still a little hoarse, “Sorry. Gosh, sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” But she didn’t move, either.

His hands tightened at her waist for a moment before he forced himself to relax. It was a long, slow process, loosening every tense muscle in his body, reminding the unthinking part of himself that he couldn’t just put his mouth on hers. He meant to let go of her completely, meant to step back, meant to say something.

He only managed the last of those goals. And what he said wasn’t exactly sensible. In fact, he didn’t know how it sneaked past security to roll off his tongue. “Do you know what I want yet, Chlo?”

At his rough whisper, she froze. She hadn’t exactly been moving before, but now everything about her was unnaturally still, as if she wasn’t even breathing.

He closed his eyes and cursed himself. Too much. Too—

“Yes,” she said softly. “I do. And I think I’m scared.”

When he opened his eyes, she was dragging her teeth over her lower lip, her frown agonized. The expression on her face practically ripped his heart open. He swallowed. Kept pushing, because screw it. “Why? Do you think I’d hurt you?” He didn’t add, Like everyone else.

She seemed to hear the words anyway. “Maybe.” Her frown deepened and she shook her head irritably. Against his chest, her hands curled into fists, fingers tangling in his T-shirt. “No. Yes. I just—I’m always afraid that …” She looked up at him, realization dawning on her face. “Red. I think I’m being a coward.”

“There’s a big difference between being a coward and putting your emotional safety first,” he said. He knew all about that.