We quietly hug until my hands don’t shake so badly and my breathing evens out. I am vaguely aware just how dangerous it is for me to be this comfortable in his arms. Better than the snuggliest blanket or the coziest couch. He smells fresh and minty, probably from a soap labeled something like Waterfall Warrior or Poseidon Punch. He’s soft and warm and so, so perfect.
This is how I want to spend all my Sundays, wrapped in his arms while a comfort show plays on TV and I pretend I’m making progress on my latest craft.
Except…no. I pull back, and he releases me. I’ve only got him through the end of summer. If we spend any of that time indulging in perfect hugs and cozy cuddles, I won’t want to let him go when September rolls around.
Also, it only just crept through my panicky brain that I’m only wearing pajamas. My light sleep shirt and shorts aren’t racy, but cuddling should probably stay at a minimum when my body already wants to count that hug as foreplay to a committed relationship.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod. “Thank you.”
“Want me to check the rest of the house?”
My cheeks must bloom red all over again. “For raccoons?”
“Would it make you feel better?” He waits, completely earnestin his offer to look through my house for intruders we both know won’t be there.
But…I will rest easier knowing we checked.
“Yes, please.”
I lead him on a tour of my house, and he treats it as seriously as if he’s part of a S.W.A.T. team, nodding in satisfaction when he deems each room clear. He checks closets and dark corners, and even looks through the garage.
“You got here really quickly,” I say as we climb the stairs. He’s going up first because he’s a gentleman who wants anything lying in wait to attack him first. And also because the reverse would mean him looking up at my backside while I’m wearing skimpy shorts. I’ve had enough embarrassment for one night.
“I was close by.”
“Your parents live in my neighborhood?” I think I would have noticed if the Bridger clan lived a couple of blocks over.
“By the high school.”
“That’s on the other side of town. How fast were you going?”
He climbs the last step, moving aside on the landing and gazing back at me with that unreadable expression he’s so fond of using. “Fast.”
“You could have gotten a ticket.”
“Wasn’t on my mind.”
I am oh-so tempted to ask whatwason his mind, when he moves past me to inspect the upstairs. He frowns into my parents’ rooms but doesn’t say anything. Nope, it’s my bedroom that gets the commentary.
“Whoa.” He stops in the doorway when I flick on the light. “I don’t know what else I expected.”
“Is it burning your eyes?” The walls here are white like the rest of the house, but everything else is an explosion of color. A mix of yellow, coral, and teal in the quilt and pillows bring the room to life. Bold floral curtains line my windows. Brightly painted frames hold squares of fabric and abstract prints on the wall over my bed. The rug beneath spirals from one shade of the rainbow to the next.
The effect could be a lot for a man whose wardrobe exclusively alternates between red check flannel and blue check flannel. I imagine his house is all neutrals, with minimal decoration. Maybe aGet Lostsign on the front door. Neat as a pin and completely bereft of knick-knacks.
“It suits you.” He leans against the door frame, gazing down at me. Even if he didn’t admit to noticing anything particular about me this afternoon—which I wasnotdisappointed about, FYI—he’s watching me now as if he’s seen all my secrets. “There should be more ofyouin the rest of your house.”
“That’s hard to do when I don’t really feel like it’s mine.” I was thrilled when my parents gave it to me and grateful for the money I’m saving since it’s already paid off. But I quickly learned that any changes I wanted to make would need to go through a committee of one. Every time I get excited about redecorating plans, Mom develops a frown line between her eyes, whether she actually says anything against it or not.
Just the way Reed’s frowning at me right now.
“Anyway, thank you for checking out the house and reassuring me there are no wild animals hidden away in one of the closets.” My laugh comes out brittle, like the burnt caramel lattices we use to decorate macchiatos. “They might have come in looking for a refill on the chips.”
He ignores my attempt at a joke. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Honestly, I’m going to have a hard time falling asleep tonight. He’s convinced me that nobody’s in the house, but my imagination has never cared much for facts. Every noise I hear the rest of the night will probably have me huddled in bed with the blankets pulled over my head.