"That's a hard way to find out." He kissed my temple, and a tiny shiver of pleasure raced up my spine. It's a miracle I thought: He still loves me, even today. It wasn't a dream.

He pulled back, and we looked at each other. In the hazy light I couldn't get over how beautiful he was. His skin was smooth and tan, even in November. His hair was thick beneath my fingers, dark and streaked with warm shades the color of walnuts. His eyes were surrounded by blunt, black lashes, with irises of a gold so fiery, they almost seamed to radiate heat.

I felt self-conscious as I realized he was examining me the same way I examined him. A tiny smile quirked the corner of his lips. "Left in a hurry, did your?"

That was when I realized I was still in my oversize football jersey and an ancient pair of my dad's long johns, complete with flap in front. A large pair of brown, furry bear-feet slippers were on my feet. Cal reached down and tickled their claws. I thought about the silky matching outfits that Bree wears to sleep in, and with a pang and an indrawn breath I remembered she'd told me that she and Cat had gone to bed. I searched his eyes, wondering if it was true, wondering if I could bear knowing for sure.

But he was here now. With me.

"You're the best thing I've seen all morning," Cal said softly, stroking my arm. "I'm glad you called me. I missed you last night, after I went home."

I looked down, thinking of him lying in his big, romantic bed, with curtains fluttering and candles flickering all around. He had been thinking of me as he lay there.

"Listen—how did you know how to call me? Did you read about it in a book?"

"No," I said, thinking back. "I don't think so. I was just sitting here, miserable, and I thought if you were here, I'd feel better, and then this little rhyme came into my head, so I said it."

"Huh," Cal said thoughtfully.