I don't sleep well.

With my mind focused on what happened at the beach, sleep is nonexistent. I spend the latter hours of the night listening to Warren's deep breathing as he tosses and turns. At one point, he's completely hogging the covers and the next, his breath is hot on my shoulder. It surprises me – he usually sleeps as still as a statue. Then again, I'm usually able to fall asleep easily. I guess that conversation affected us both in some way.

I feel like a selfish coward for keeping secrets locked behind my lips when he was selfless and brave enough to share with me the reasons behind his probation. I should have told him about Carter – God knows he deserves it.

The problem is, I get scared when it comes to talking about his death. It encourages all the emotions I felt during the time it happened to reveal themselves again, and sometimes it gets so overwhelming that I break down. And breaking in front of Warren isn't something I want to do.

Even after him saying he's there to talk to, I'm still scared to open up to him. I don't know if he'd be able to understand how extreme my situation is – was. Or if he'd be able to accept the fact that I'll never truly be able to get over Carter. My ex is always going to hold a special spot in my heart whether I like it or not. What we had between us was simple and inspiring, and I miss him so much because of that.

The other half of the problem is the undeniable magnetic pull I feel toward Warren. Sure, he is someone that can go person-to-person without developing an emotional connection, but he's different.

I mentally scoff at myself – the words sound so cliché, like something any girl would say to get people off her back about dating the wrong type of man.

They're the truth, those words. Can't you see how different he is?

I look at Warren. He looks like a young boy who hasn't been stripped of his innocence as he sleeps. As usual, I go through every moment I've spent with him this summer, ending with today's episode on the beach, the way he kissed me, so slowly and tenderly.

I squeeze my eyes shut when I see the look of dread on his face after I pulled away. From what I saw, I know he didn't dread the kiss – he dreaded my reaction. I know the guilt was clearly visible on my face and that's probably what made him react the way he did. I doubt he's ever seen such a look on a girl's face before.

For some reason, I begin to think about him accusing me of pushing people away. To some extent, I've underestimated him. I never would have expected him to be able to decipher me so easily. If he can see that I have a habit of pushing people away, then God knows what else he can see in me.

Can he tell that I have feelings for him?

Does he notice the guilt that saturates my very soul when his lips touch mine?

How every day is a battle between wanting him and not wanting him?

I certainly hope not. Things have gotten comfortable between us and I would hate for him to use sensing my underlying emotions to his advantage.

But what if he's not trying to use your feelings? What if he likes you, Nova? Wants you, even?

I reach up and rub my temples. I'm sick of my mind and its contradictory game of tug-of-war. When did my feelings become so murky? It's like I've consumed too much red wine at Julia's house; there's a haze that's settled in my mind and things are starting to blur together.

I want him. I don't want him. Will I ever be able to make up my mind?

Yes, I'm attracted to him. And I know what's really holding me back from being with him.

But will I ever overcome the guilt?

The guilt of getting to live my life while he doesn't. Carter had so much more potential than me. Why couldn't I have been the victim of mental illness instead of him? Why did life choose to take someone that could make everyone smile and laugh? He should still be alive.

Glancing at the alarm clock, I realize I should be asleep by now – it's almost two A.M – if Warren and I are going to do the geocaching we have planned for tomorrow.

Deciding to store these thoughts in the back of my mind for now, I slide closer to him, ignoring the possible consequences. I'm close enough that I can feel his hot breath on my face and the warmth of his bare upper body through my cotton tank top. Taking a deep breath, I rest a hand on his rising and falling chest. His skin is hot to the touch, the plane of toned muscle hard and defined beneath the palm of my hand. His smoky sandalwood smell floods my nose.

If I have to suppress my feelings when everyone around me is conscious, then so be it. But when I'm alone and the only one that's awake beneath the night sky, I will be selfish.

With the covers tangled from his tossing and turning, I close my eyes, savouring every second that passes by until I've drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

Warren is gone when I wake up in the morning, but his spot is still warm and the mattress is slightly compressed. He must have left only minutes before I woke up.

I swing my legs over the bed and head for the bathroom. I decide against a shower, considering the fact that we'll be hiking later, and pull on a pair of Nike shorts, a purple sports bra, and a matching workout top. Before leaving the bedroom, I grab a pair of socks to pair with the hiking boots Hazel lent me. It's very convenient, that despite our difference in height, she has the same sized feet as me.

Downstairs, I set the boots and socks on the bench beside the front door, and then head for the kitchen. It smells of freshly brewed coffee and toast that's been slightly burnt. The sunshine is spilling across nearly every surface of the kitchen. On the countertop is a half-empty cup of coffee with a book sitting next to it. Adjacent is a plate with two pieces of toast that have yet to be smothered in apricot jam.

I frown, confused as to why someone would leave their stuff out. Did someone get called into work and have no time to drink or eat?

When I see the full pot of coffee, I walk over to the cupboard by the sink and extract a coffee mug. I'm at the corner of the island when I see the name of the book: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

Smiling, I pick up the book and flip to the page where the bookmark is. I'm shocked to see what's being used as a bookmark: the lighthouse keychain from the first time Warren went geocaching. My heart flips at the sight.

"Figured I'd give the books a try. You did say they are your favourite. Besides, the movies are pretty damn good."

I jump at the sound of his voice, quickly sticking the keychain in its rightful place, and slam the book down on the marble with a loud thud.

Spinning around, my feet sticking to the cool tile, I see Warren leaning against the white pantry door with a jar of peanut butter in his hands. My eyes instantly lock with his and I feel my cheeks flush. He's caught me.

Smiling, and not showing any trace of yesterday, he walks over to the toast and begins slathering it in peanut butter and apricot jam. I watch, perhaps a little too intently.

He's halfway through the second piece of toast when he says, "If you so much as whisper a single thing about me reading a book to East or any other teammates of mine, though, I'm going to have to kill you."

My eyes widen. He sounds so serious that I can't help but wonder if he actually – oh. He's joking. Of course he's joking. I should have figured that right from the beginning.

I let out a small laugh. "Right – because I'm going to talk to your teammates. And I have experienced just how much East likes to tease you when given the chance. My lips are sealed."

He shrugs. "Who knows? You could accidentally slip."

"Doubt it," I snort as I fill up my mug.

Silence settles over us for the next couple minutes. In that amount of time, I think, like I always do. The keychain, the book – each item is connected to me in a certain way. I was with him when he found the keychain. I suggested we watch the movies together, and now he's reading the book.

I look at the book atop the marble. He's on the fourth one already. It's almost like he's been trying to catch up to the movies. We've both been so mentally and physically exhausted from the wedding planning that we've only made it to the fifth one.

My heart melts a little.

And then I harshly reprimand myself for thinking that way. So what if he's reading the books? Maybe he wants to be able to pick out the differences between the books and the movies. That's why I read the book before seeing the movie. Or maybe he just enjoys reading and I didn't know.

Taking a sip of my coffee, I try to fight against the urge and pull I'm currently feeling. He's the bad boy – the one I'm not supposed to fall for.

I shouldn't be falling for him. Not when I swore my heart would always belong to one person.

Yet here I am, slowly tumbling over my own two feet as he continues to grow on me.

Deciding that I need to stop thinking about him, I ask, "So where are we going today?"

Without looking up from the book he reads as he munches on his toast, he says, "You'll just have to wait and see."