Unraveling Hearts

Chapter Thirty-Five.

♡ M I L A ♡

The morning light sneaks in through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. I gently open my eyes, dispelling the last whispers of sleep, and notice my form cocooned in soft sheets.

The scent of last night's passion still lingers in the air, and sure, I'm a little achy, but it's the good kind of sore. Because last night was worth it, it was more than worth it. It was extraordinarily amazing. Neither of us held back, surrendering to a desire that was both necessary and liberating. It felt unreal, the best kind of dream.

Basking in tranquil contentment, a soft smile graces my lips, and a gentle flush colors my cheeks as memories of the night, vivid and delicate, dance through my mind. Yet, amidst this reverie, I'm struck by the silence that envelops me.

It's too quiet. I extend my arm, my hand reaching out, expecting the familiar warmth of Heath, but all I find is a cold, empty space beside me. Bewilderment seizes me, and a pang of anxiety coils within. What the heck!

I glance at the digital clock on the nightstand. 6:30 AM. Where's Heath? Where on earth could he have gone?

I pull over something to wear from the discarded mess strewn willy-nilly and slip out of bed, my bare feet whispering over the chilled mahogany planks. His tee, the one he was wearing, not the one I was. I cross the threshold of the room with my heart thumping, a frantic rhythm.

The penthouse lies in hushed repose, just my breathing filling up the space. With each hesitant step, the weight of quietude grows, my gaze flitting around in search of him when abruptly, a voice pierces the calm, a playful taunt veiled within, "Looking for someone?" The words, though teasing, really startle me.

I catch my breath and whirl around, and there's Heath, nonchalantly propped against the kitchen counter, cradling a steaming mug of tea. The sight of him washes a tide of relief over me. But his expression, why does he look so adorably forlorn? Like a lost puppy?

I shake it off and stride towards him.

"Thought you sneaked away without saying good morning?" I quip, my voice steady now as the last threads of dread dissolve into the comforting warmth of his presence.

He meets me with a smile, the one that seems to reach straight into my soul. "Nope. I would never dream of it. Never," he retorts, and my heart does a little dance. I clear my throat, trying to sound nonchalant. "So, what's got you up and about? Aren't you worn out, too?" I ask, my voice a whisper, my gaze lingering on him through lashes still heavy with sleep.

There he stands, in jeans that seem molded to him, his hair a delightful mess, and his chest bare. Oh, hell. I'm honestly exhausted from finding new ways to describe just how devastatingly attractive he is. He glances up, a flicker of confusion crossing his face, then leans back, a mischievous twinkle igniting in his eyes and a smirk playing on his lips.

"Worn out? Maybe a little," he admits with a playful edge, "But sleepy? Not a chance."

His eyes twinkle mischievously. "You're welcome."

Fantastic.

His smile, unexpected and charmingly lopsided, then breaks through the morning's quiet. "Want some tea?" he offers.

I feel a blush rise to my cheeks again, but I feign exasperation, rolling my eyes for effect. "That's not the reply I was looking for," I chide, my words a gentle tease.

He takes his time, a deliberate pause, then exhales a soft sigh. "Managed to catch an hour," he confesses.

I fix him a mock frown. "It's hardly enough..." "Chamomile, Red?" he interjects, his smile unwavering.