27
It was dark when Thomas woke. The fire was dying down, and the air in the room was starting to chill. Fortunately Eileen was very warm. He snuggled himself closer to her. She murmured something in her sleep and snuggled back, her warm, bare legs pressing against his. Her back, covered in the shirt she had borrowed from him, was warm against the bare skin of his chest and stomach.
Someone knocked at the door—for the second time, Thomas suspected. He blinked a few times to clear his head. The knock came again, a little louder. Thomas forced himself to sit up. Eileen moaned in protest and snuggled down further into the blankets.
“Sorry, love,” said Thomas, kissing her cheek and extricating himself from the bed. Eileen squealed when the cold air touched her and burrowed herself deeper in
