I could tell she was awake. Her breathing was softer and more rhythmic, none of the soft hum of her light snoring from only a few minutes before. She was laying on her side facing me, her long black hair cascading over her face and the pillow. I could still see her face through the soft tangle, though, and I watched her lips twitch and her eyes scrunch closed even more.
"Please tell me you're not watching me," she whispered.
"I'm not watching you," I said.
She opened your eyes. "Liar."
"You're just as beautiful this morning as you were last night."
She snorted her disbelief.
"I'm serious," I said. "So peaceful and quiet and calm."
Her features softened.
"And last night," I continued. "Well, let's just say you got some serious snoring in. It was like sleeping with a . . . well . . .
