Phoenix Maplewood What if the witches wrote the book

Part of her had expected him to be gone when she woke. It came as a surprise to wake with his head still resting upon her shoulder, his breath still tickling the hairs of her neck. She counted his breaths and listened to decide if he was still asleep. Though they were long and deep, they did not carry the regularity of deep sleep. Arch? she ventured. Are you awake? She almost wished he wasn't. If he was, then they would have to move, and she was very comfortable like this.