Hazel woke, a distinct sound in her ears that she struggled to place. She sat up, the cot beneath her foreign but comfortable. She hadn’t fallen asleep here, however, and as she c****d her head to catch the sound she’d heard, a soft memory of being carried in Dylan’s strong arms and tucked into bed flitted through her mind.
He hadn’t been inappropriate. Just covered her up and snuck out the door the same way he’d come in.
“Music.” She swung her legs over the side of the cot, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes. She didn’t want to take time to shower or change, not yet. Because Dylan was somewhere nearby, strumming a guitar.
She found him on the front steps, a guitar balanced on his knees, his fingers moving mindlessly while he gazed out into the dawn.
“Hey.” She sank to the step behin
