Her mouth is a ruinous riot of nearly laughing again when he's hovering above her, with a mock severity that is terribly delightful. Audrey isn't sure she isn't dreaming, even when no dream could be this good. This surprising. This perfect. It's like those slivers of watching Nathan with a baby, or a dog, at those little league games, but looking nowhere except at her this time. Staring down at her like she's the only thing he can see.

That easily misread by the world stern distance, the one she reads so well now and can't tell why everyone who's known him so much longer than she can't see, all of that is gone. This disarming freeness of expression, of nearness, touch, that has her pressing her mouth and then shaking her head, with a grinning-wince, that becomes a small tossed out 'Really?' when he throws out the line about needing a detective.

Audrey can't help it. She can't. Her mouth is already turning to a smile when he leans back in.
Not leaving again, and her heart can't possibly actually take getting to have all of this. Nathan.

Who suddenly pulls back, brandishing shorts, stolen from the other side of her and the bed,
as she drops her mouth in surprise even as he's suddenly vacating the bed. "Terrible. That was terrible."

Then, and again. "You're terrible." Audrey shook her head and drew the sheets back closer, curling into her pillow, hardly able to truly press her smile into anything small enough to make her look doubtful or dismayed by every turn of these events, from last night to this morning, to five seconds ago, to this one. At all. "Those better be the best pancakes I've ever tasted now."