Chapter 18
HANNAH
The next morning, I wake up in a cloud of pillows. Or at least that’s what it feels like. Travis’s guest room is infinitely more comfortable than my new bed next door (or any other bed I’ve slept in ever).
I passed out hard and fast. I thought after all the chaos and being in a new place, it would take me ages to fall asleep, but I was so very wrong.
It’s quiet in the house as I get dressed and head downstairs. Did I get up a half hour earlier in hopes of leaving before Travis woke up? I can neither confirm nor deny. But the way I jump and nearly scream when I spot him in the kitchen (shirtless) is a fairly good indication.
He cocks one brow as I force my surprised expression into a smile. Despite trying to sneak off, I am really grateful to him.
“Sorry. I didn’t think you’d be up already.”
“Morning,” he says in reply, voice a little gruffer than normal. “How’d you sleep?”
“So good I’m questioning the mattress quality of every bed I’ve ever slept in before,” I admit. “Thank you again.”
He chuckles softly. “I’m glad.”
“Coffee?” He turns to the pot, freshly made from the smell of it. It’s intoxicating. All of this is. Him in nothing but sweats and house shoes, messy hair, unshaven, combined with the cozy, intimate vibes of sharing coffee in his house.
“I’ll grab some on my way to the gym.” My desire to flee is greater than my need for caffeine.
Being in his house has me feeling off-kilter.
I was only just getting used to the idea we were staying married, and now I’m sleeping down the hall.
My willpower can only handle so much of Travis.
He’s so quick to help or do things for me.
I’m not quite used to it yet, and it’s more complicated by the attraction I feel toward him (and of course the fact that we’re married).
Ignoring me, he goes over to the coffee pot and pours some into a to-go mug, then holds it out to me.
“Mine’s better,” he says by way of an explanation.
“I didn’t peg you for a coffee snob.” I take a small sip. It’s good though. Is there anything this man is bad at? Other than wearing a shirt.
“I’m not. In fact, I don’t really drink it that much, but I figured you’d be wanting some.” He shrugs, looking away, like it just occurred to him how much effort he went to for me. “Hungry? I also got muffins from the bakery.”
“Exactly how long have you been up?”
He runs a hand over his dark, messy hair looking sheepish. “A while. I couldn’t sleep, but I had those delivered in case you were hungry. I don’t have a lot of food in the house right now.”
The blood rushes from my face. I’d been so worried about how I was going to sleep in a new place, I didn’t think about how me being here would screw with his schedule. “I’m sorry. I can go to Kinsley’s tonight. She wasn’t answering yesterday but she has a couch—”
“No, no, no. I’m glad you’re here, really. I couldn’t sleep because I stayed up too late playing Mario Kart with Aidan.”
I look around. “I must have been really out of it. I didn’t even know you had company.”
“Nick’s son, Aidan. We play on the Nintendo.”
“Oh.” The mental image of him hanging out online with his friend’s kid is kind of cute.
“I was seeing banana peels and stars in my dreams.” He lifts the plate of pastries and holds it out to me.
“I usually just eat a protein bar on my way to the gym.” I reach into my bag and grab one, then hold it up like a trophy as proof of said breakfast.
“Okay.” He sets the plate down. “Any news on the repairs next door?”
I sigh. “They found a lot of issues.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. They have to cut into the wall and part of the ceiling, and there was something about laying new pipe…” I let out a small, strained laugh. “I stopped listening when he said it might be weeks before they get it all fixed. He’s looking for another rental option for me.”
“Damn. I’m sorry.”
I shrug because what else can I do?
“I have to be at the rink late this afternoon, so I’ll text you the key code for the front door in case you’re back before me. Make yourself at home. Whatever you need.”
“Thanks.” I nod. “With any luck, I will have found another place before the end of the day, and I’ll be out of your space for good. I really appreciate you letting me crash here. I may have to figure out how to steal that mattress when I leave.”
It feels good to joke, even if the situation isn’t very funny.
I shift and adjust the heavy overnight bag on my shoulder as I prepare to thank him again and leave for the gym.
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.” He comes around and takes my bag from me. “I’ll walk with you,” he says by way of explanation.
He follows me out the front door and to the curb where my Jeep is parked. I place my coffee in the cupholder and start the engine so it can warm up while we talk. Travis hands me my bag and I toss it in the back seat.
His silence is more intimidating than his usual charming chatter.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” I prompt him. He has to be freezing out here. I can see my breath when I talk.
“I was thinking…” He stops, hesitates for a second. “Since you are currently houseless and we’re going to stay married…” Another pause, this one longer.
I find myself leaning forward as if I can pull the words out faster that way.
His brown eyes lock on me and hold. “You should move in with me.”
I couldn’t be more surprised than if he’d suggested we go back to Vegas and tie the knot again. I can’t even form a response. Though plenty of questions spring to mind. Namely: Whaaaaat? Why? Are you fucking with me?
Whatever expression my face is responsible for, it leads him to keep reasoning the situation out.
“I have the space and the comfy bed and if anyone gets nosey, it’s a hell of a lot more convincing that we’re married if we’re living together.”
“We are married,” I throw his words back at him.
“Think about it. You’d save on rent, but still be close to the gym. I’m clean and I don’t snore. And I travel a lot with the team, so you’ll basically have the place to yourself a lot of the time.”
“I can’t move in with you.” A weak counterargument, yes, but it’s all I manage to get out. The idea is ludicrous. Absolutely absurd. Not happening. No way.
“Why not?”
“Because…” I blame the cold seeping into my bones for my inability to come up with a single good reason that will satisfy him.
“Afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off me if I’m wandering around shirtless all the time?” he asks with a wink.
My tone is purposely dry and monotone. “I thought I was going to have the place to myself most of the time?”
“Some of the time,” he corrects.
I must be well and truly at my lowest point because I find myself considering it. Deflecting is my only course of action. “You’re going to get frostbite on your nipples.”
He chuckles and brings his hands up to rub together in front of him. The movement makes his pecs jump around and his biceps flex. “Come on. I know it’ll help you out and I like having you around. It’s a win-win.”
Oh god, I’m going to regret this for sure.
I don’t see Travis much during the first week of living together.
On day one, all my possessions are mysteriously moved from next door to my new room at his place (our place?!) before I get home from the gym. And the fridge is stocked with food, including many of my favorites.
On day two, coffee and pastries are waiting in the kitchen again when I wake up, but Travis is already gone. He has a game in St. Louis and doesn’t get back until well after I’ve gone to bed.
The time to myself to settle in should be comforting, but the evidence of his presence is everywhere. His smell, his stuff, and the lingering butterflies in my stomach at the thought of running into him at any moment.
On Friday, he texts me while I’m between visualization therapy and dance strength training.
Travis
Is it okay if I have someone over tonight?
I tap out a reply to say yes, of course, because it’s his house and I’m not even sure why he’s asking, but then it occurs to me, he’s talking about a date.
Travis isn’t asking to have friends over.
He’s asking about a woman. I should have seen this coming.
Sure, we said we wouldn’t date other people, but he’s a hot, fun guy and we’re only pretending.
I want to take it back and tell him that isn’t what we agreed to, but he’s been so generous that I can’t bring myself to do anything except avoid home.
It’s only when my stomach is rumbling so loud I can’t hear the music for my floor routine over it that I give up and head home.
Only Travis’s Range Rover is in the driveway when I get there. The lights are on inside, but I can’t see anything or anyone as I walk up the front. I’m going to go inside, smile politely, and rush upstairs to my room. No big deal. It’s basically like any other night.
I brace myself as I turn the handle and push inside. The TV is on but that’s the only noise as I shut the door quietly and tiptoe toward the stairs. I almost make it past him undetected, but Travis stands from the couch in the world’s worst timing.
“I’m going to grab some more pizza rolls. You want any?” he asks his visitor.
I freeze like a statue, hoping he won’t notice me. Which of course doesn’t work.
“H.W.!” Travis calls out to me. “You’re home.”
His dark hair is covered with a backward white hat, and he’s in what I’m starting to think of as his usual attire – athletic pants and a T-shirt. Not what I expected for a date night, but he looks good. Really good. Homey, casual and comfortable looks good on him.
“Hey,” I say, lifting a hand in an awkward fan wave. “I’m beat. I’m going to shower and head to bed.”
His smile is as big as I’ve ever seen it. “No, join us. I got more of the white chocolate chips. The good brand.”
My demise will likely come in the form of white chocolate. Impossible to resist.