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T W E N T Y - S E V E N

EVA. 

My eyelids flutter, and my chest rises and falls steadily. Warmness surrounds me and I know there's another presence in the room by the feel of something heavy on my tummy. 

Twisting my head to the side, I'm met with the sight of Emerson Ford's sleeping face with some of his fallen curls covering one side of his face. 

Staring down, our legs are tangled in each other and I sigh as I dart my eyes back to Emerson's face. He slept here with me– he stayed. He came here to give me comfort—when he didn't need to—and he didn't leave. 

I press my lips into a thin line as I slowly lift my hand to his face. I barely place a touch against his skin as I push the curls from his face and let my eyes roam across it. Unlike that other time, there's no crease over his forehead and there's no frown on his lips as he gives soft snores. 

The urge to press my

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