Chapter 77 At midnight
Hannah
I wake up because I’m cold.
Not freezing. Just that soft, creeping chill that slips under your skin when the sun disappears and you’ve been asleep longer than you meant to be.
For a second, I don’t know where I am.
There’s grass beneath me. The faint scent of fruit in the air. A solid warmth pressed against my side.
Warmth.
My eyes blink open slowly.
It’s nearly dark, the sky painted in deep purples and fading orange. The orchard looks different at dusk. Quieter. Dreamlike.
And I’m curled up against Timothy.
My cheek is pressed to his chest. One of his arms is loosely around me, not tightly, just resting there like it landed and stayed. My legs are tucked slightly toward him for warmth.
Oh.
Oh.
I freeze.
His breathing is slow and even. He’s still asleep.
For a moment, I don’t move. I just listen to the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my ear. His heartbeat is slow. Calm.
Unlike mine.
I push myself up gently, careful not to make it obvious that I’d been practically using him as a human pillow.
The air hits instantly, cooler now, sharper against my skin.
“Timothy,” I whisper, nudging his shoulder lightly. “Hey.”
He doesn’t move.
I nudge harder. “Timothy.”
He inhales sharply and his eyes open, unfocused at first. “What…?”
“It’s almost night. We gotta go inside,” I say softly.
He blinks, then squints up at the sky. “Damn.”
We sit up slowly, both a little disoriented. His hand drags down his face as he exhales.
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he mutters.
“Me neither.”
There’s a brief pause where we both pretend not to acknowledge how we’d been positioned moments ago.
He stands first, offering me a hand. I take it without thinking.
His palm is warm.
Mine probably isn’t.
We pack up in comfortable silence, folding the blanket, sealing containers, placing everything back into the basket. The orchard feels colder now, shadows stretching long between the trees.
By the time we start walking back toward the house, the estate lights have flickered on, casting golden pools along the path.
We’re both quieter.
Sleep-heavy.
When we step through the front doors, Lisa is there.
Of course she is.
She takes one look at us, with our hair slightly messy, eyes half-lidded, moving like two people who just woke from an accidental nap, and something flashes across her face.
A smile.
But not her usual polite one.
This one is… knowing. Wry. Almost amused.
It’s gone in a second when she realizes I’ve noticed.
“You’re back,” she says smoothly.
Timothy hands her the basket. “We may have lost track of time.”
“I can see that.”
She takes the blanket from me. “Are you two hungry? I can warm something up.”
We glance at each other.
“Not really,” I say.
He shakes his head. “We’re fine.”
Lisa nods slowly, like she doesn’t quite believe that but won’t press. “Alright. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” we echo.
We head upstairs together, steps slower than usual.
At the landing, we pause automatically.
It feels strange to just split off without something else being said.
He looks at me.
I look at him.
There’s a softness there. A quiet shared understanding of the day.
“Goodnight, Hannah.”
“Goodnight.”
He waits.
I know he’s waiting.
So I turn, walk to my door, open it, and step inside. Before closing it, I glance back.
He’s still there.
Watching.
Once I’m fully inside, he finally continues down the hall to his own room.
I change quickly, crawl under my blankets, and curl onto my side.
I fall asleep smiling.
—
I wake up again to darkness.
Pitch-black, middle-of-the-night darkness.
For a moment, I’m confused.
Then my stomach growls.
Loudly.
I groan into my pillow.
“Traitor,” I whisper to it.
I try to ignore it. I really do. I close my eyes and shift positions, willing myself back into sleep.
Another growl.
Longer this time.
“Unbelievable.”
With a sigh, I throw the covers back and slide out of bed. The floor is cool under my feet as I shuffle toward the door.
The house is silent at night in a way that feels almost sacred. Every sound is amplified, the faint creak of the stairs, the soft hum of distant appliances.
I make my way down to the kitchen, already planning to grab something quick and disappear back upstairs unnoticed.
The light is on.
I stop in the doorway.
Timothy is standing at the counter, slightly hunched over, spoon in hand, eating from a bowl.
He looks up at the exact same moment I step in.
We stare at each other.
For half a second, it’s silent.
Then we both burst into laughter.
The kind that comes from being caught doing something mildly ridiculous.
“Shhh!” I whisper frantically, clutching my stomach. “You’re going to wake everyone!”
“You’re the one laughing!” he whispers back, grinning.
We both attempt to stifle it, covering our mouths like children sneaking cookies.
“What are you doing down here?” he asks once we’ve calmed slightly.
“I live here,” I shoot back.
“You know what I mean.”
“My stomach woke me up.”
He nods knowingly. “I was wondering if you’d come down.”
I narrow my eyes. “Excuse me?”
He lifts a shoulder. “You said you weren’t hungry earlier. I figured that wouldn’t last.”
I step fully into the kitchen. “You’ve been waiting for me to fail?”
“I’ve been prepared.”
He turns to the cabinet, grabs another bowl, and pours cereal into it without asking what I want.
“What if I didn’t want cereal?” I whisper.
“You want cereal.”
He’s annoyingly confident.
He pours milk, slides the bowl toward me, and I hop up onto one of the counter stools beside him.
We eat quietly for a moment.
Then I start giggling again.
“This is so dumb,” I murmur.
“Midnight cereal is not dumb,” he says solemnly. “It’s strategic.”
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“I knew you couldn’t go a full day without working.”
He pauses mid-bite. “I wasn’t working.”
“You just said strategic.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“You’ve definitely opened your laptop tonight.”
He doesn’t answer immediately.
I grin. “I knew it.”
He chuckles under his breath. “I got a few things done.”
“Addict.”
“Disciplined.”
“Obsessed.”
“Focused.”
We both smile into our bowls.
The teasing fades into something softer. Comfortable.
We finish eating, the only sound the faint clink of spoons against ceramic.
When we’re done, he takes both bowls without being asked and rinses them in the sink.
“You don’t have to…” I start.
“It’s fine.”
He washes them quickly, dries his hands, and turns off the kitchen light.
We walk back upstairs together again, the house still wrapped in silence.
At the landing, we pause just like earlier.
This time, the smiles come easier.
“Goodnight,” I whisper.
“Goodnight, Hannah.”
I step into my room, heart oddly light.
As I crawl back under my blankets, I realize something.
Today didn’t feel forced.
It didn’t feel complicated.
It just felt… easy.
And maybe that’s the most dangerous thing of all.