I've come to the conclusion that Warren was accidentally switched at birth with another boy – there is no possible way he's related to Cam, Karen, and Hazel. His family is just so nice and he's, well...Warren. It makes no sense.

Logically, I know my conclusion is wrong – there are too many pictures of Warren in the hallway; ones that range from the day he was born to last year. Karen even went as far as to tell me about some of the photos. I'll never say a word, but my favourite picture was of Warren and Hazel when they were younger. They were both covered in cake and icing after having a cake fight during his seventh birthday. It made me smile.

Speaking of Hazel...

She's absolutely gorgeous. Her long dark brown hair stops mid-back, her skin is flawless, and she can really pull off the no-makeup look. Her and Warren have the same heart-shaped faces, but hers looks more feminine; instead of having a strong jawline and sharp cheekbones, she has a cute babyish layout that makes her face a little rounder than his. Their eyes, though – those are the same shape, size, and dark blue colour. She's also tall, but not as tall as Warren.

Aside from the height and hair colour coming from Cam and the eye colour and face shape coming from Karen, both kids are a perfect blend of the parents. It makes me jealous – maybe if my genes had evened out a little, I wouldn't be so short.

Dinner and dessert are delicious – lemon butter crab-stuffed salmon that's blackened with various spices, followed by a lemon pound cake with a fresh blueberry compote – and by the time we're finished, it's almost eleven. By that time, I'm stuffed and exhausted. Which is why I'm relieved when Warren tells me to come upstairs with him.

As we walk upstairs, I can't help but gawk at his house. It's perfect, the most beautiful house I've ever seen, with its dark, shiny floors, different shades of white, high-vaulted ceilings, and homey feel.

It's magnificent, as is the bedroom Warren leads me to. It has a king-sized bed, complete with a barn-wood headboard and a white comforter. Behind the bed is a large window that has an astounding view of the Atlantic Ocean and its rocky beaches. The walls are painted white. Oh, and did I mention it's about five times the size of our dorm room?

I walk around the room, admiring every little thing my eyes can see. I almost begin to bawl when I see the doorway to the en-suite bathroom. I've missed having a real bathroom.

Making my way back over to the bed, I notice that Warren has already unpacked our suitcase, hanging our clothes up in the closet. He's even gone as far as to throw our used clothes in the laundry hamper. I can't hide my shock. The guy barely picks up his clothes in our dorm room.

"Do you like it?" Warren asks.

Flopping down on the bed, I roll onto my side and look at him. He greets me with a sly grin and leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. I sigh. "I love this room. This house. Is there any way we can pick this place up and bring it to Vancouver with us?"

Warren chuckles and shakes his head before walking over to the bed. He lies down beside me. I prop myself up on my elbow and stare at his lengthy body, biting back a laugh. It's funny to see his feet not hanging off the edge of the bed for once.

"I sure as hell wish there was a way," he replies, resting his hands behind his head and closing his eyes.

"Was this your bedroom?" I ask.

"No," he replies. "This is one of the spare rooms. My bedroom is just down the hall." He opens one eye and peeks at me. "Wanna see it?"

"Sure," I shrug.

I follow Warren out of the room and down the hall, walking to the final door on the left. When he opens the door, I see...gym equipment. A yoga mat, weights, a treadmill. The room smells medicinal with a hint of sweat. I glance up at Warren. He's frowning, shifting his eyes from side-to-side as he inspects the room.

Then, he's turning back into the hallway.

For a moment, I stand still, now knowing whether or not I should follow him. He was clearly not expecting his old bedroom to now be a fitness room, but it still makes no sense as to why the atmosphere around him suddenly seems tense. Parents always make use of their kids' old bedrooms when they leave for university – Matthew's became a storage room when he left.

Closing the door, I follow Warren down the hallway. He's already at the top of the stairs, so I have to jog to catch up to him. "What's going on?" I ask.

Warren shakes his head and keeps walking.

Hazel and the parents are still awake – I can hear their voices echoing off the walls – so it's no surprise to find them sitting in the living room.

"Decided to stay up?" Hazel asks, looking up from her cup of tea.

"What the hell did you do to my bedroom?" Warren asks, sounding irritated.

I blink. Yes, he can be a total asshat, but I would never have expected him to use such a harsh tone with his family.

Cam frowns. "Warren, you haven't lived here since you were nineteen."

"Yeah, okay," he replies. "But why couldn't you have used one of the spare rooms for a workout area? I still come home to visit."

Karen, who looks at me and rolls her eyes at Warren's partial-rant, says, "Honey, your room was much smaller than the spare rooms. That's why we used it."

"Where the hell am I supposed to sleep?" he asks.

Hazel is the one who speaks, giving me a suspicious look. The look makes me uneasy. It's almost like she suspects something. "I thought you and Nova would be sharing a bed," she says. "Considering how long you've been dating."

"Nova prefers her own bed," Warren replies smoothly. "And, just like when we went to visit her family, she's uncomfortable sleeping in the same bed when the parents are in the same house."

I frown to myself – I never said that or implied it. If by some miracle, I did have a boyfriend and was staying at the parents' house, I would rather sleep with him because of the familiarity.

That is, unfortunately, not the case. I truly hate that Warren has pinned this one me, but I don't want to sleep with him. Sharing a bed would mean touching and waking up with him beside me. Everything inside me screams no – everything but that little voice that misses having a relationship, misses the tender, loving touch, and the concept of someone loving me.

I silence that voice.

"It's true," I say, attempting to sound meek.

Cam and Karen exchange a look. Hazel stares at Warren. I stand there, feeling like a fool.

"Well," Karen says, getting to her feet. "There's another spare room just down the hall. You could sleep there, Warren, but only until Canada Day."

"Why?" Warren asks.

"Because," Hazel says, "I have other guests coming to stay with us until the wedding."

Warren's shoulders sag in defeat, and so do mine.

Spending a couple of nights in sperate beds is going to do nothing except prolong the wait for the inevitable. Also, if Warren uses the spare room, it will only create extra work for Karen. She'll have to wash the sheets before these mysterious friends arrive, which would be unfair.

"You know," I say. "I think I can manage. After all, I don't want to be a bother."

Warren's eyes widen, big and blue. His lips are slightly parted. Though I may not know Warren on a personal level, I do know his facial expressions – he's genuinely surprised that I'm agreeing to share a bed with him.

"Honey," Karen says. "If you're uncomfortable with sharing a bed, we understand. Warren can stay in the second spare room. It wouldn't be a bother whatsoever."

I'm prepared to shake my head and politely turn down her offer, but Warren beats me to it. And boy, does he do a good job of making it sound convincing. He gives Karen a big smile, wraps an arm around my waist, and pulls me close. He even plants a small kiss on my cheek.

It's all so sudden that my cheeks begin to burn.

"My girl is just fine," Warren drawls.

I stiffen. His words sound possessive, but I'm still too shocked and embarrassed by my reaction to argue.

"Okay," Cam says. "Now that everything's settled, I think it's time to retire for the remainder of the evening."

Warren agrees with his dad, and then he's tugging me up the stairs.

"I'm sorry," is the first thing he says to me when we're alone.

I don't have to be a genius to know what he's apologizing for. All I do is shrug. I could ask Warren to make a bed on the couch downstairs, but it seems unfair. He is the one providing me with food and shelter.

"Seriously, Nova," he says, running a hand through his hair. "I can make a bed on the floor or something."

With a quick glance around the room, I form a plan. "No," I reply, "it's fine." I point at the pillows. "We'll create a barrier between us with the pillows. To some extent, it will be like sleeping in our own beds."

Warren rubs his chin thoughtfully and then nods. "That might actually work."

He looks like he wants to say something else, but after everything that's happened today, I'm too tired to talk. Today has been crazy.

"Okay," I say, turning around to head for the bathroom. "Everything's settled then."