Morgan Rielly Imagine

It's October, In Canada

The car ride is short. Too short.

               I realize as Morgan pulls into a parking spot surrounded by several other too nice of cars that I don't want to leave. I tell myself it's because the car is so toasty, my seat heater is on high. Who wants to have a cold butt? Not me.

Morgan shifts into park and I try to hide my disappointment by pulling my hair over my shoulder to create a curtain between us.

               The last hour and a half had been so relaxing. Since I've been in Toronto, I had felt the tightness of my shoulders and I could tell my resting bitch face was in full force. Now I'm sitting here perfectly relaxed and for the first time in weeks, my head isn't about to burst with my constant thinking and scheduling and fretting about how I'm two minutes behind schedule.

               "Y/N?" I hear Morgan say faintly and I blink several times, bringing myself back to now.

               "Huh?"

               "I asked if you were ready," Morgan chuckles at me and my face heats. "Something on your mind?"

               I startle, confused at how easy he seems to read me and it's a little unnerving to be honest. I'm used to people just thinking I don't want to be talked to because of the whole resting bitch face thing.

               "Oh, no. Nothing except the fact that it's so warm in here and so cold out there," I nod out the window. There are several people milling about between the parked vehicles and even from inside the car, I can see their breath.

               "That's Toronto for ya," Morgan nods and then I can feel his gaze on my face and I peek at him cautiously. "Don't you have warmer clothes?" He asks me, taking in my stubborn clothing choice of thin dress pants, ankle shoes and a coat that would in no form be considered a winter jacket.

               "I want summer," I pout and cross my arms across myself self-consciously.

               "Well, we're in October, and in Canada."

               And before I can protest, his pulls his scarf off and winds it around my neck. The cloth is warm against my skin, even with the heater on me running at full blast. The soft, worn cotton sends a shiver through my body and when I inhale sharply my senses are overwhelmed by the smell. A mixture of coffee, mint and some sort of cologne.

               I keep my eyes on Morgan the whole time he adjusts the scarf and when he finally lifts his eyes to mine, I'm speechless.

               The air seems to change in the car. I'm suddenly too warm but I make no effort to avert the vents or open my door. Instead, I stare into blue and blue stares into me. No, blue with specs of green in the middle. I hadn't noticed before.

               "You have pretty eyes," I hear myself say and I nearly start hyperventilating.

               Did I just say that out loud?

               The embarrassment must show on my face because the surprised expression on Morgan's face morphs into laughter at my expense.

               "You should try looking at yours sometime. I think you might change your mind on the definition 'pretty'." He says and leans back into his side of the car and turns the ignition off.

               Still beyond mortified, I scramble for my door handle. What just happened?

               I suck in a deep breath of shock when I finally succeed in getting my door open and the cold late fall air assaults me. Never in my life have I appreciated winter garments more. I hear a chuckle beside me as I pull the scarf up over my mouth and nose.