Counterfeit Love

"That's your whole plan for the future?"

"Sounds like a good time to me."

"No buying a house? Settling down?"

"Can you imagine me settling down, love?" he asked.

"That's fair. Thanks for telling me your story. And I'm not going to use Ewan against you. I think we're, you know, beyond that."

"We're definitely beyond that," he agreed, reaching down to snag my hand, touching the tip of his pointer to mine. "I'm wrapped all around this. You can have anything you want from me without blackmailing me into it from here on out."

"Anything, huh?" I asked, smirking.

"Oh, fuck. I don't like that look."

"I'm just going to hold onto that information should I need it in the future."

"I'm strangely looking forward to that, doll. Now go back to sleep. We have a big day ahead of us."

I didn't think I would.

I'd never been able to sleep around anyone. I had never been one to could pass out on the couch watching a movie. I always had to go to my own room, lock my door.

So I very much doubted I would be able to pass with Finch not only in the room, but in my bed, with my head on his chest, with his arms around me.

I should have felt suffocated and trapped.

But as we both settled, as the sounds of my beloved Golden Girls played on the TV, with Finch's heartbeat against my ear, the slow rise and fall of his breathing under me, I felt myself drifting peacefully away.

Into a nightmare-free rest.I woke up alone.

And the realization sent an unexpected sinking sensation through my stomach, making me realize how big a part of me wanted to wake up to him, to feel his hands in my hair, tracing down my face. I was pretty sure waking up to that smile of his would have been a wonderful way to start the day.

But as I rolled onto my back, stretching out, I could smell the sickly-sweet syrup scent wafting from the main area and into my room.

That smile and breakfast?

Okay, that was going to be the best way to wake up.

I rushed out of bed, going into the bathroom to brush my teeth, wash my face, comb the crazy out of my hair.

I normally would have dressed. I liked to present the most put-together version of myself to the world. My therapist and I had concluded it was just another guard, something I wore to keep people from seeing any of the true, more buried parts of myself.

Even knowing that, I couldn't break the habit. Even when I had been living with my parents, I made sure I was dressed for my day before going to greet them. And once I was dressed down for the night, I never left my room again.

I should have been going through my suitcases to find the outfit of the day, putting on a little concealer under my eyes, a little mascara on my lashes.

But I didn't.

I left on my pajamas; I didn't bother with my makeup. I just walked out into the living space like any normal person would first thing in the morning.

"You don't strike me as an early riser," I observed, seeing him standing over by the windows to the balcony, his back to me, now covered with a plain white tee.

"You don't strike me as a late one," he shot back, half-turning, giving me that smile I'd been craving. And it did something strange to my chest, making it feel unusually tight. Like a panic attack, but in a reassuring way. That didn't even make sense, but it was all I could come up with.

"What time is it?"

"Just after eight. I wanted to get up first to order breakfast. I'd like to claim I am just considerate like that, but that would be a fucking lie. I'm just trying to impress you, I guess."

"Why would you be trying to impress me?"

"'Cause I stayed awake for a bit after you drifted off last night. And I did some reevaluating."

"Reevaluating what?"

"My plans."

"Your plans for what? Tonight?"

"Tonight. Next week, a couple months from now."

"Oh, ah, that's good. I, um, I'm a big fan of planning. As you know," I added, rolling my eyes.

"This is where the breakfast part comes in, dollface," he said, holding an arm out, ushering me over toward the dining table and the cart beside it, all the lids still on.

He'd ordered us both full stacks of classic French toast with a side of breakfast potatoes, orange juice, coffee, and extra maple syrup. "Okay. So, about all that planning," he said as I reached for my fork and knife. "I was thinking about your plan for the next day, week, couple months."

"My schedule varies," I told him, brows pulling together. "Why?"

"I was wondering if you'd be interested in penciling me in here and there."