“Can’t.” Another yawn falls past my lips. “I don’t want to wake up and find out this was all a dream.”
Owen chuckles softly, his lips brushing my forehead. “Well, I could always pinch you or pull your hair to prove I’m really here,” he teases, yawning as well.
Giggling, I cuddle against his chest, my fingers curling against his skin in a desperate need to cling onto him as I continue to fall victim to my exhaustion. I inhale deeply, letting his natural scent and cologne invade my senses, and say, “That’s oddly sweet.”
And then I don’t fight it anymore; sleep takes over.
Over the next few days, Owen and I try to spend a little more time apart after coming to the realization that it might be borderline unhealthy to need to spend every waking moment together. Not to mention, the more time we spent together, the higher the risk of being caught together. Not just by my dad, either, but by Gretchen.
While Owen’s divorce is supposed to be as complication-free as they get, he’s not sure what will happen if our relationship is brought to light. Yes, we didn’t technically get involved until after he was separated, but Gretchen would probably find a way to use that to her advantage anyway.
After going home with Owen on Monday night, I’d forgotten to call Liz. Naturally, when she showed up at my apartment on Tuesday morning, she automatically assumed something was wrong with my dad—because, why else would his best friend show up on campus, looking a little worse-for-wear?
Why else, indeed.
I assured her that my dad was fine, but this only raised her curiosity. I’m certain I didn’t do a very good job at trying to steer her in the other direction, because she had this look in her eyes by the time we got to school that said, “You’re keeping something from me.”
Even though she doesn’t pressure me, I won’t be surprised if she starts putting two and two together soon enough. Keeping this from her bothers me more and more every day, and I feel like I need to tell someone before I slip up at the wrong time, but I know I can’t do this without talking to Owen first. This news has the potential to spread like wildfire, and neither of us can afford that before we’re entirely ready.
We make plans to see each other on Friday night—plans that include me going over to Owen’s house. One week ago, this plan seemed like the most exciting thing in the world, but after everything that happened, it makes me a little nervous. I can’t help but wonder if we’ll have a repeat visit from my father—or, hey, maybe the ice-bitch will show up. That could be interesting.
I realize that the chances of this happening are slim to none—or maybe slightly higher—but it’s a legitimate concern given our track record.
When I tell Owen this during our mid-week dinner date at my apartment on Wednesday night, he reaches for my hand and tells me everything will be fine. I’m about to list the reasons that my concerns are valid when he pulls his hand away from mine, revealing two silver keys attached to a key ring in my palm.
“What’s this?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“The keys to my condo,” he replies with a smirk. “I’ll be working a little late on Friday night. This way, you can let yourself in if you want.”
This feels like a big step—even though I gave Owen a key to my apartment and didn’t expect it back—and I smile. “You’re giving me a key to your place?”
“Well, yeah. I have one to yours, and I’d like someone besides me to have a set in case something happens.”
“So this is purely a formality,” I tease, narrowing my eyes playfully.
Owen laughs. “If that’s how you want to look at it. But I want you to feel as comfortable in my place as I do in yours.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, leaning forward and kissing him.
And just like that, Friday night seems a little less daunting.
When I arrive at Owen’s apartment, it’s after six, so the doorman has already gone home for the night and I have to let myself in. With my very own set of keys, remember. When I step through the entryway to his unit and turn on the light, I see a large bouquet of roses on the side table and smile when I spot my name on the card.
I drop my bag to the floor and pick up the card.
Amelia—
Please make yourself comfortable. I’ll pick
up pizza on my way home from the office.
—Owen
I place the card next to the vase and smell my roses, remembering how he’d bought me flowers last week, too. I’d never gotten the chance to really thank him since the night didn’t exactly go as planned. I’ll be sure to rectify that tonight, though.