I stirred in the middle of the night, flipping from one side of the bed to the other. After almost an hour of tossing and turning, I slipped on my robe and tiptoed into the kitchen. With intent of thanking Dax's mother in the morning, I went into the fridge and pulled out a pitcher of milk, pouring myself half a glass and throwing it in the microwave to warm up. The timer beeped a few times before I took it out. I leaned against the stone counter tops and sipped at the warm milk, humming softly in comfort.
"Fancy meeting you here." A deep voice whispered from the door frame. Nearly dropping the glass, I steadied myself and attempted to look nonchalant. Dax walked into the kitchen, sporting simply a pair of basketball shorts. And nothing else. His hair disheveled by sleep and his voice hoa
