Page 31 of Danny

I press my ear to his skin and listen. His heart is hammering—wild, frantic, alive. Nothing like the steady seventy-two beats per minute he’d counted before.

It’s racing now. For me.

"Goodnight, Danny," I whisper against his chest.

He laughs softly, the sound rumbling deep and warm beneath my cheek—a quiet, chest-shaking laugh like he’s heard this exact goodnight a hundred times and still loves it. His arm tightens around me, pulling me impossibly closer.

"Stay," he murmurs.

"I’m staying."

"Good." The word is low, satisfied, almost drowsy.

Silence settles over us, broken only by the distant hum of the city outside the window. His breathing gradually slows, deep and steady, his heartbeat a calm thud under my ear.

"Danny?" I mumble after a while.

"Mm?"

"Your book fell off the nightstand."

"I know."

"You should pick it up. I dog-eared the page for you."

"Tomorrow."

"You’re going to lose your place," I protest sleepily. "It’s the good part. You’re almost to the letter, and I think Went—"

I don’t finish the sentence. Sleep pulls me under before I can, safe and warm in the circle of his arms.

Danny

Iwake up before she does. Of course I do. Fifteen years of waking at 5 a.m. has carved the habit into my bones. My body doesn’t care that I spent half the night buried inside her—it only knows the clock.

Anna is sprawled across my chest like she belongs there. Her hair is everywhere: tangled over my shoulder, draped across my arm, one stubborn strand stuck to my chin. I don’t move it. Moving it would mean disturbing her, and I’m not willing to do that.

One of her legs is thrown over mine, knee wedged between my thighs. Her hand rests on my stomach, fingers loosely curled like she reached for me in her sleep and decided to keep me. She sleeps heavy. I learned that last night when she drifted off mid-sentence—something about a dog-eared page—and went from talking to unconscious in seconds flat. One moment she was there, the next she was soft and warm and breathing slow against my skin. I’d lay awake for a long time just listening to her.

I’m doing it again now. Not thinking about quarterly projections. Not thinking about the Gala follow-ups I owe Lola or the eighteen things waiting on my schedule. Just lying here with Anna’s hair on my chin and her heartbeat against mine, doing absolutely nothing. It feels foreign. It feels perfect.

My phone lights up on the nightstand. 5:14 a.m. Four texts from Jagger. I flip it facedown.

Anna stirs. Her fingers spread across my stomach, pressing like she’s confirming I’m real. She makes a small, grumpy sound and burrows closer, lips brushing my neck, knee sliding higher.

“Time is it?” she mumbles against my throat.

“Five-fifteen.”

“That’s not a time. That’s a punishment.” Her eyes stay closed. “Why are you awake?”

“I’m always awake at five-fifteen.”

“That’s awful. You should fix that.”

“Can’t. Fifteen years of conditioning.”

“Fifteen years?” She groans, pressing her face deeper into my neck. “Danny, that’s self-abuse. Go back to sleep.”