❛ Shut the window. That bird is giving me a headache. ❜
They were like apples and oranges, the two of them. How they ever managed to find themselves in their little arrangement was a mystery to him, but he wasn’t complaining.
Ever the morning person, Jamie was sat by the open window. He’d made coffee, but hers was probably cold by now. He would have woken her but by the way she had her head burrowed under a small mountain of pillows he thought that might’ve been the equivalent of poking a hibernating bear.
“I think you maybe really overdid it at that office party if you think that’s a bird.” It was New York. During rush hour. If there were any birds it was covered up by the sound of business men with road rage and the soccer moms of their building who still hadn’t gotten their kids to school. He was laughing softly as he walked over to the bed to sit down. She groaned as it dipped a little when he settled into it.
“You going to come out from under there?”
“Only if you make me an offer I can’t refuse.” The answer was muffled and muted, but he got the idea.
Jamie thought he heard a ‘meh’ sound in reply.
“And some Advil. And a very reliable Uber guy.”
“Food?” Though it came out more like a ‘ood’ sound.
“The world’s your oyster, darling. If you come out here and hear the birds.”
There was a long pause, so long that Jamie thought she must have fallen asleep again. But then there was a stir underneath the covers where a pair of feet may have been, and then one of the pillows on the mountain toppled and then another.
She had the most glorious bedhead he thought he’d ever seen. It was beautiful.
She blinked at him through squinted, hungover, bleary eyes once she was sat up. “What are you staring at?”
“Hm? Oh, just this girl who thinks cab horns sound like birds.”
Even if she was hungover and it was early, she still had pretty good aim as she whacked the middle of his chest with an errant pillow. “That was…” she trailed off, looking as if she was trying to remove the cotton taste of a long sleep from her mouth. “That was so cheesy. Okay. Where’s your phone?”
He passed it over to her, sipping at his coffee as he watched her scroll through it, reading her options through a fog. It may have been a slow morning, but he’d take it for some ragged bedhead and cold caffeine.
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