Rachel lifted the quilt covering Nicolas and slipped beneath it. He made as much room for her as he could, but his legs were already hanging over the far arm, his back pressed against the cushions.
Rachel didn’t need much room as she snuggled into his side, tucking the quilt back around them. “It’s freezing in here,” she said, her voice husky and low, her breath feathering against his neck.
“You need to check your insulation,” he said. “And probably get new windows.”
“I’ll get right on that,” she said in a voice that implied the opposite.
She shivered, and Nicolas allowed himself the indulgence of pulling her closer against him. In the name of keeping her warm. “What are you doing up?”
Rachel’s hand found his waist under the blanket, her fingers icy against his bare skin, but he didn’t dare flinch, lest he scared her off. “I wanted to see if you showed up. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“It’s good you got some rest.”
“More like I sobbed myself to sleep in Naomi’s bed, but yeah, sleep was good. How are you?”
He sighed, at a loss for words to describe how he was feeling. His face ached, his body felt drawn, like he’d worked out too hard without enough food afterward. Nicolas couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. He wasn’t even sure he had a digestive tract anymore. Who had room for food when they were filled with heartbreak and betrayal? Was it possible to be yawning open with emptiness and full of dread and darkness all at the same time? It felt like the same thing, and yet entirely different.
Rachel’s hand was playing over his torso in a way that she probably didn’t even realize she was doing, but in a way that was distracting, allowing temptation to edge in on the periphery.