“Um, Zack, we have underfloor heating here.”
“Oh?”
“So, if you decide to sleep on the floor, it won’t be cold.”
“Norah,” he said, approaching with a pained expression, “I’ve been calling your parents ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad,’ and we’ve even set a wedding date. How can you expect me to sleep on the floor?”
That did seem pretty unfair.
I hurried to the bed and grabbed my blanket. “I’ll take the floor.”
“No way.”
He lifted me and the blanket effortlessly. “I can’t let you sleep on the floor.”
I tried to protest quietly, worried about being overheard by my parents, but it was futile.
Before long, Zachary and I were lying in bed together. I was so nervous, I didn’t know where to put my hands or feet.
“Norah,” he said softly, smiling with warm eyes.
“You worked late last night and traveled today. You must be exhausted. Just sleep.”
His voice was soothing and full of care, just like a real boyfriend.
Maybe it was the wine or just his kindness, but I felt tears starting to well up.
I struggled to keep my voice steady.
“Zack, thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” he said with a gentle smile, stroking my hair.
His hand was warm and comforting. “It’s late. You should get some rest.”
3