What Was Lost

Chapter 7

Groaning, she desperately covers her head with a pillow, trying to block out the harsh morning light. Her body aches and her mouth feels like it's been stuffed with cotton. She knows she pushed herself too far last night in multiple ways. With a sense of resignation, she attempts to fall back asleep, but it's no use. The impending hangover is already tightening its grip on her. Reluctantly, she throws off the heavy blankets and slowly drags herself out of bed. The floor feels cold beneath her bare feet as she shuffles across the hall to the bathroom. Turning on the shower, she hopes that the hot water will somehow alleviate her symptoms. And miraculously, it does provide some relief. As she steps out of the shower, she catches a glimpse of her reflection in the steamy mirror. Dark smudges of eyeliner and mascara are smeared under her eyes, evidence of how drunk she was last night when she stumbled into bed without even bothering to remove her makeup. Sighing, she grabs a makeup wipe and scrubs away all traces of last night's wild escapade.

Henry lay on the bed, his snores muffled by the pillow as she struggled to pull on her sweats. She craved any form of comfort to prepare for the hellish day ahead. At this point, she could only hope that it would just be a day, because in her 30s, hangovers had a tendency to stretch out much longer.

With a heavy sigh, she settled onto the couch and turned on some mindless reality TV. As she reached for her second cup of coffee, the doorbell rang. Glancing at her phone, she saw a familiar knit hat and leather jacket on the app's video feed. Logan stood on her steps, a motorcycle propped outside on the street, because of course he drove a motorcycle.

"Jesus Christ," she muttered under her breath, pushing herself off the couch. Annoyance took over her thoughts more than embarrassment at this moment, but mostly because she just wanted to crawl into a hole and hide when she didn't feel good.

She opens the door with a grumpy expression, her brows furrowed and lips pursed. Before she can say anything, he holds up a brown paper bag, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"I come bearing bribes," he says with a hopeful smile, coaxing her to let her guard down.

She crosses her arms defensively. "What's the bribe for?" she challenges.

"The bribe is a greasy breakfast sandwich," he replies, wiggling the bag enticingly. "And it's so you'll let me into your house."

She chews on her lip as she considers his offer. "Is there bacon in it?"

"There is, indeed," he confirms with a playful wink. The smell of sizzling bacon wafts from the bag, making her stomach rumble in response.

With a soft sigh, she steps aside and gestures for him to enter. He grins, his broad shoulders filling the narrow foyer as he moves past her into her home. She takes a moment to study him, admiring his tall, imposing figure in the familiar surroundings of her house. As he surveys the foyer, she notices how out of place he seems in the small space. Quickly grabbing the bag from his hand, she leads him into the comfortable living room. Collapsing onto the plush couch with excitement, she eagerly rips open the bag. The delicious smells of hot food and freshly brewed coffee spill out, making her stomach rumble with anticipation.

Without waiting for him to sit, she immediately takes a bite of the greasy sandwich. The aroma of sizzling bacon and melting cheese wafts up from the plate, making her mouth water. It's just what she needed after a long night of partying.

"Good God," she sighs contently, closing her eyes in bliss. Sitting down next to her, he catches her eye with a knowing smile. He positions himself close enough to imply that he's not avoiding her, but not too close to make her uncomfortable. "I'm assuming you knew I'd be in rough shape this morning and this would hit the spot."