Chapter 38
Thirty-Eight
Beckett
After breakfast, Madison insists on “digesting horizontally,” which is how we end up on the couch with some mindless action movie playing in the background.
Her head settles on my chest with one arm draped across my stomach and a leg thrown over mine.
At some point, she goes quiet. That’s when I realize she’s asleep.
I don’t move. Not when her breathing evens out or when the credits roll. I’ve got no idea what happened in the last twenty minutes anyway.
I just watch her.
Her copper hair is spilling across my T-shirt, and there’s a faint crease on her cheek from the cushion.
She looks… younger like this.
Unarmored.
I brush a strand of hair off her face carefully. She doesn’t stir.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Madison this relaxed.
Actually, that’s not true. I don’t think Madison knows how to relax.
But here she is. Out cold in my arms.
For some reason, that hits harder than it should, and something shifts in my chest.
When did that happen?
When did she stop being the neighbor who storms into my life and start being the woman I measure my Saturdays against?
I trace my thumb along her temple. She hums in her sleep and presses closer.
It feels… significant.
Which is inconvenient.
“You’re staring at me,” she mumbles, her eye cracking open.
“You’re snoring,” I reply.
Her hand smacks my chest. “Rude.”
She sighs and burrows into me like she’s trying to fuse us together.
“Food,” she says sleepily. “A nap. A lazy Saturday. What more could someone want?”
I huff a laugh. “You’re easy to please.”
She tilts her head back to look at me. “Don’t be fooled. I’ve been told I’m incredibly high maintenance.”
There it is.
She says it jokingly, but I see the flicker beneath and the quick scan of my face to see if I agree.
I don’t miss things like that.
Madison is expressive. She’s opinionated, and yes, she’s demanding, but only in the way someone is when they refuse to accept anything less than they deserve.
Somewhere along the way, some idiot probably called that difficult.
I feel irritation coil in my gut.
Whatever man told her that wasn’t man enough to keep up.
She might be strong on the outside, but she files those comments away and carries them.
I brush my knuckles down her arm.
“You know,” I say, “I’ve been thinking.”
“God help us,” she murmurs.
“I think you’re ashamed of me. Keeping me locked in these apartments. Having your way with me in secret.”
Her brow furrows. “What?”
“Seems suspicious.”
She props herself up on her elbow. “You’re serious?”
“I am.”
“I’m not ashamed of you,” she says, genuinely baffled.
“Good,” I reply. “Because I’d like to take you out.”
Her eyes widen. “You want to take me on a date?”
“Yes, Madison. I would like that.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
She gasps. “I have nothing to wear.”
“That’s funny,” I say evenly, “because there’s a new shoe shop that opened up down the—”
She launches off the couch so fast I nearly lose my balance.
“Say no more. I’ve been summoned.” She’s halfway to the bedroom when she spins around. “Wait. Is this some kind of test?”
I shake my head. “You said you’re high maintenance.”
Her eyes narrow.
“Then let’s keep you maintained.”
Her brows shoot up. “You want to buy me shoes?”
“Yes.”
“I can buy my own shoes.”
“I know that.” I push off the couch and step toward her. “But I would like to buy you shoes.”
She just stares at me. Then she shakes her head, lips twitching. “Get dressed, Doc. You don’t know what you’ve brought on yourself.”
Oh, I have a feeling I do.
Ten minutes later, she’s ready to go.
As I grab my keys, she slips her hand into mine. I look down at our fingers intertwined. That feeling in my chest tightens again.
She glances up at me. “What?”
“Nothing.”
I lean down and kiss her once.
Her hand curls into my shirt.
When I pull back, she looks slightly dazed.
“Shoes first,” she says, clearing her throat. “Then we’ll discuss dinner.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
She smirks. “Don’t start.”
High maintenance.
Right.
If this is maintenance, I’ll happily sign up for the lifetime warranty.
The thought is out before I can stop it.
Fuck.