I barely slept as I focused on staying on my side of the bed. This had “accidental cuddle” written all over it, and I really didn’t need to go there. Friends don’t cuddle friends in their sleep. Unless they were Connor. With his amazing way of seeing things, him cuddling was okay. Me cuddling meant I wanted an engagement ring.

But, when I woke up, my bed was empty and I was wrapped around my pillow just like always.

Voices were coming from my living room. Because I wasn’t nuts about someone being in my house who I didn’t know, I considered texting Connor from my room. The upside was, I could throw something over my Becca-approved pajamas—Yes, Becca bought me PJs. She also bought me non-sleepwear PJs, if you get what I’m saying. Those were stuffed in the back of my closet, in the bag, with the tags still on, because friends also didn’t let friends wear inappropriate sleepwear.

“I did that. It still doesn’t taste the same.” Connor’s voice slipped through the door sounding frustrated.

I ran a brush through my hair as I listened for the muffled response. It sounded high and fast. Was Jenna here? I found it hard to believe she’d just be hanging out with Connor while I slept.

“Right. Okay, so I’ve put those in the oven and I split the two K-cups.” Something banged shut. “Wait, the oven isn’t warm. I put the little preheat button…”

Mumble, mumble, mumble.

I snuck down the hall and peeked around the corner to see Connor glaring at his phone.

“I did. Why isn’t the oven warm?”

“Did you pick a temperature and set the timer and everything?” Abby’s voice asked over speakerphone. “I should have known you'd need the cooking virgin directions.”

“Don’t mock me, Abigail.”

I smothered a laugh as Connor pulled a muffin tray back out of the oven and dropped it on the counter.

“You’re extremely mockable, Connor,” Abby taunted.

“Can I just stick these in the microwave?” I watched him slide a glance at the appliance like it might solve whatever issues he was having.

“No. You can’t. Also, your pan is probably metal.” Abby sighed as if this were the biggest struggle ever. “I told you to just come down here and get her a muffin, but nooooo. You want to be all Cute Morning-After Guy.”

“Hey! That’s not what this is,” Connor sounded almost as annoyed by that as by the betrayal of his beloved microwave. His head jerked up, as he realized what he’d said. “I mean—”

“Dude, trust me,” Abby interrupted. “I’m not an idiot. You guys aren’t dating. It’s a secret. Dane wants to kick your butt and Jenna’s watching you, and you’re—”

“Um…” Connor picked up the phone and took it off speaker. “What do you mean?”

He nodded and scowled and checked the oven to see how warm it was.

“Abby, you get the weirdest ideas.” He forced a smile as if Abby could see him. “You need to get out more.”

I could hear her high-pitched voice memer-memer-memering from where I’d snuck to the edge of the counter to watch as Connor continued to scowl.

“It is not cute,” he declared. “We’re just friends. And, she likes muffins…Right…So, once the oven is warm, put them in for how long?...That long?...Fine, right. Okay. Thanks. And, Abby?” He waited for her reply. “Not a word of any of this, got it?”

He hung up the phone, shaking his head as he did and went back to the Keurig that had magically appeared in my apartment. He better figure out where that thing was getting stored, because it wasn’t on my counter top. I stood there, wondering what was going on and if I should just go back to bed while my—hopefully edible—muffin baked. But, just as I was thinking of slipping back to my room, Connor caught me out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey, Hails.” His smile was surprised, like he didn’t expect me to be up yet. “I figured after your big night you’d sleep in a bit.”

“It’s almost nine.” Which was sleeping in.

Connor glanced at the clock then back at the oven before mumbling, “Exactly how long is it supposed to take to make muffins?”

Since I’m pretty sure this question was rhetorical, I wandered over to the counter and pulled out a stool, waiting to see what exactly was going on. Connor turned to the sink and worked through rinsing everything and putting them in the tiny dishwasher squeezed next to my fridge.

“I was making you a muffin.” He looked almost guilty as he explained.

“I heard.” I waited for him to expound, but instead he just went back to cleaning the kitchen.

Don’t get me wrong, after I’d gotten over the cuteness of pro-athlete sized Connor trying to bake in my tiny kitchen, I’d wondered who was going to clean this mess up. But, now that he was doing it, I was more curious about what was going on.

“Connor, you didn’t have to make me a muffin.” Because, four blocks away were the best muffins on Earth, but why set the bar impossibly high. I’d settle for “edible and didn’t light the kitchen on fire” at this point.

“I know.”

Well, that didn’t give me a lot to work with.

“Okay, let’s try this a different way.” I waited until he glanced my way and went on. “Connor, why are you up early, making me a muffin?”

His nose squished up in a way that made him look much younger and he set the sponge down and came to stand across the counter from me.

“You know the other day, the fight we had?” He asked as if our post-paparazzi throw down was easily forgotten.

“Yes.” I hoped this wasn’t his way of fixing something we’d already gotten past. I didn’t want to go backward.

“And, how we talked about being friends?”

“Yes.” Now I was worried he was going to brush me off for good.

Maybe he realized he had opened the door for something he didn’t want. Our time was almost over. He’s probably trying to soften the blow that we’re not really friends. As if I don’t know this.

But, he should have waited until the last day. Which was tomorrow, but I wanted to enjoy my last day. Maybe he just wanted to get it out of the way, though, instead of waiting and then being all, Hey, this was great and I’ll see you around but probably not. Maybe even roll it into the whole fake breakup thing. You know, we can’t really hang out because people think we broke up.

I slid my hands down my pajama-covered thighs, realizing I was sweating a bit. How was I supposed to be friends with someone who announced ahead of time we weren’t really friends?

“Well,” he drew the word out like he didn’t know where he was going to go from there. “I just wanted to say…thanks.”

“Thanks?” The shock in my voice came through so clear, I smiled to try to lessen the blow.

“Yeah. I know this is lame, but I don’t have a lot of friends. My brother, a few guys from home, and a couple from my old team. But…” He ran his hand through his hair, the pink staining his cheeks giving away his discomfort even more. “I told you I burned a lot of bridges on my old team. That means that no one here wanted to take a chance on me until they saw if I was going to be an as—a jerk. It’s been nice to have a friend. I just, you know, wanted to say that.”

“Oh.” I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. It had to be hard being in the spotlight all the time and not knowing who was a real friend. And, he’d been honest about the bridges thing.

Part of me was amazingly flattered and thankful. It’s not often someone so private—because he was about the important stuff like his family—and so untrusting would welcome me into his world as a friend.

The other part of me took the hit. It was one thing to know it, and another thing to hear it. But still, the place he’d offered me, it was valuable—coveted even—and not easily earned. So, I’d cherish it for what it was.

“Well, then, at least we got something out of this whole mess, right?” I asked. “I could use another friend myself. I mean, you’ve basically met all my friends. Writers are hard to be friends with. In three weeks I have to start writing my next book after I finish this outline and, trust me, that’s a whole different Hailey. Then, when deadlines come around…Yeah, that’s known as the breakup segment of the writing cycle because the hours and focus are nuts.”

“Like the playoffs.” He grinned, seeming pleased with himself to have found a correlation.

“Sure. That makes sense.” I smiled back, taking in a breath of the chocolate scent starting to come from my oven. “So, this is good.”

He gave me a smile so sincere it almost broke my heart. No wonder the guy didn’t believe in picket fences. If he couldn’t find people he trusted to be a friend, how could he trust anyone in further than that?

Right. Good.

Yeah.