Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Apartment
Me
There’s a boy sleeping in my bed.
Wyn
again?
Me
Yes
Wyn
im guessing you’re not in bed next to him otherwise you wouldn’t be texting me.
Me
that would be correct.
Wyn
I thought you were determined to spend the night alone.
Me
I was. But then he changed my locks and by the time he was finished, we were hungry. So we ate and then I asked if he wanted to stay the night.
Wyn
Any hanky-panky?
Me
A good-night kiss and spooning.
Wyn
So where are you?
Me
hiding in the bathroom with my laptop so I won’t wake him.
Wyn
what are you doing on your laptop?
Me
I’m attempting to organize Muddy’s brain. The woman doesn’t think in terms of meals. we were picking beets and carrots today and now I have canning, pickling, and dressing recipes out the wazoo to type up
Wyn
Seems like you have your work cut out for you.
A knock on the door elicited a startled squeak out of me.
“Freckles?” Brooks called. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. You can come in.”
Brooks opened the door and turned on the bathroom light.
He was shirtless.
Of course . . .
“What are you doing in here?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” I admitted. “And I didn’t want to wake you. Did I wake you?”
“No.” He ran a hand across his jaw. “So you hiding out in here has nothing to do with the fact that we were having a sleepover?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Will you come out and talk to me?”
“Don’t you have to get up early tomorrow?” I hedged.
“Come on, Freckles. Let’s talk.”
The problem was that I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to climb him like a tree.
I closed my laptop and clambered up off the wooden floor. My tailbone was already numb, and I rubbed it with the palm of my hand as I went to the bed.
There was nowhere else to sit. We’d come to that realization when we’d cooked dinner and there had been nowhere to enjoy our meal. We’d had to stand at the counter and eat.
Brooks turned on the main light and immediately started moving around the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” I asked as I set my laptop down on the floor next to my side of the bed.
“Making you something that will help you sleep.” He opened a lower cabinet and pulled out a pot and then went to the fridge for the gallon of milk. “Don’t worry, I can multitask. We can talk while I warm the milk.”
He was beautiful. Large. Inked. Ripped.
Brooks fried my brain.
“So, what were you doing in the bathroom with your laptop? Watching a show?”
“No. I was just trying to organize all of Muddy’s recipes for the day,” I said. “She’s got so much knowledge. I can see this being a multiple-volume cookbook—not to mention the fact that the woman knows all the Hints from Heloise tricks.”
“Hints from Heloise? What’s that?” he asked as he poured a cup of milk into the pot.
“Hints from Heloise? It was a newspaper column that started in the ’60s. Heloise gave out lifestyle and home cleaning tips. Like how to get rid of those pesky insects. Or get the stain out of your lace throw. That kind of stuff. The column is still going, actually.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“My grandmother read the column religiously,” I explained. “Probably why I know about it.”
He turned on the burner and then began opening cabinets, clearly searching for something and not finding it.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“Cinnamon and honey.”
“Cabinet by the stove,” I said.
He crouched down and opened the cabinet door.
“You’re making me warm milk?”
“Yep.”
“Warm milk is gross.”
“And yet millions of people put it in cups with espresso and call it a latte. Right?”
“Yeah, that’s true.”
“Trust me.”
He stirred in a pinch of cinnamon and a couple of tablespoons of honey and then he poured it into a mug before bringing it to me.
“Where did you learn this little trick?” I asked, taking the offering from him.
“Sometimes, my mom used to make this for me when I was a kid when I couldn’t sleep.”
I held it up to my nose, breathing in the scent of warm milk, honey and spice.
“Did you have trouble sleeping when you were a kid?”
He didn’t reply for a long moment. He just continued to stare at me. “Taste it.”
I took the tiniest sip.
“That’s good,” I said. “I’m surprised.”
“I never slept well as a kid. And it got worse as an adult . . . prison kind of changes you.”
“Oh. Prison . . . right.” I peered into my mug to stare at the warm milk.
“Does it bother you when I bring it up?”
I shook my head. “No. It . . . no.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yes. But it does kind of throw me for a loop every time because I keep forgetting.”
“So you sitting in the dark on the floor of the bathroom had nothing to do with me being asleep in your bed?”
“Nothing,” I assured him.
“Not sure I believe you.”
“Why not?”
“Because you laid down with me, but you didn’t fall asleep. Do you not feel safe around me?”
“That’s not it at all.”
“No? It’s the logical conclusion.”
“We slept in the same bed at The Regal Beagle,” I pointed out. “Why would now be any different?”
He shrugged. “Because it is different.”
“I . . . I’ve never—I like having you here,” I stammered. “It’s just new for me. I’m just not used to sharing my bed with someone so . . . big.”
So big. So warm. So delicious.
I swallowed a huge gulp of the warm milk.
Its soporific effects were already doing the trick.
“We need to get you a kitchen table,” he murmured, his golden eyes watching me.
They looked liquid.
Dangerous.
“Table,” I repeated stupidly.
“Can’t keep cooking you meals and eating them standing. That’s just ridiculous.”
“Dinner was good,” I said with a slight smile. “Kind of impressive, actually.”
“Chicken and vegetables aren’t impressive.”
“You made it taste good,” I stated. “That’s what was impressive.”
A slow smile crept across his lips. “I impressed you?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’ll impress you again tomorrow night.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded.
After we’d left the ranch, we’d gone to Dusty’s and shopped for groceries for the apartment. I’d pushed the cart while he’d read ingredient labels and picked things for us. And every time I’d put junk food into the cart, he’d put it back on the shelf and told me he was trying to prolong my life.
It had been so easy. So familiar. Grocery shopping with him the first time had felt like it was already a routine. And our bickering in the aisles felt as if we’d done it a hundred times before.
It was like I was in the middle of a relationship already. One that was established, yet completely exciting.
My lids drooped.
“There it is,” he murmured, taking the mug from me. He finished the last few sips and then got up off the bed. He set the mug into the sink and then hit the main light, swaddling us in darkness.
I slithered beneath the sheets and pulled them up to my chin.
The bed dipped as Brooks crawled in next to me.
We were both on our backs, staring up at the ceiling.
“I’m not used to sharing my bed either.”
“No?” I asked, smiling in the dark.
“No.” He paused for a moment and then admitted, “There hasn’t been anyone in a really long time.”
“Oh,” I said, pleasure at his words dancing down my spine and curling in my belly. Warmth spread throughout my body.
He reached his hand out and gently patted my thigh. He gave it a hearty squeeze before letting go.
“Good night, Freckles.”