Chapter Four #5
“I didn’t bring spare clothes because I was unaware today’s schedule included sex at your house.”
“I can fix the clothes problem.”
She looked over.
“You own something that fits me?”
“Fit might be generous.”
I went to my bedroom and opened the bottom drawer.
The sweatpants were still there.
They’d once been a perfectly good pair until I put them through the wrong wash and dryer cycle. The legs had shortened enough that I’d stopped wearing them.
I brought them out with a soft charcoal long-sleeve shirt.
Caprice held up the sweats.
“These are yours.”
“Formerly. I shrank them.”
Caprice stared at me. “You?”
“Yes.”
“The man who repairs plumbing, aligns doors, manages generators, cooks from scratch, and apparently knows the correct storage conditions for chocolate cake lost a fight with laundry?”
“I pushed the wrong setting.”
Caprice looked delighted.
“Lucky Ramsey, you have no idea how happy this makes me.”
“I’m glad my laundry failure has found a purpose.”
She stepped into the pants.
Even after shrinking, they hung loose at her waist until she tightened the drawstring. The shorter legs reached almost perfectly to her ankles.
Caprice looked down at herself.
“I hate to tell you this, but these are excellent pants now.”
“They’re yours.”
She looked up.
“You’re giving them to me? Not just loaning them because you can’t wear them?”
“I’m giving them to you.”
Her smile quieted.
“Thank you.”
She pulled on the shirt.
It swallowed her.
The sleeves covered part of her hands, and the hem fell well past her hips.
Caprice raised both arms.
“This one has definitely not been shrunk.”
“No.”
“I can tell.”
“You want something smaller?”
She lowered her arms.
“No. I like this.”
I changed into dry sweats and a T-shirt.
When I came back out, Caprice was standing near the family photographs again.
Bear had finished eating and lay sprawled beside the woodstove.
Caprice ran her fingers lightly over the hem of my shirt.
“I understand why you like it here.”
“My house?”
“Your life.”
The words went through me slowly.
She looked around again.
“Not because it’s simple. It isn’t. You have a job that turns weather into hours of work, a family close enough to fill half a shelf, a dog with a criminal record, and enough kitchen equipment to frighten me.”
Bear’s tail moved once.
Caprice smiled at him.
“But it fits you.”
For a second, I couldn’t think of a better answer than the truth.
“I like that you see that.”
Her gaze came back to mine.
“I like seeing it.”
We stayed there quietly until Caprice yawned.
She covered it too late.
I smiled.
“That was convincing.”
“I’m warm. And I did sleep.”
“Eventually.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You seem pleased with yourself.”
“I’m remembering last night.”
“So am I.”
That ended my advantage.
Caprice crossed the room and slid her arms around my waist, resting her cheek against my chest.
I kissed the top of her head.
“We can sit down for a few minutes before we head back.”
“Couch?”
“Bed’s more comfortable.”
Her head lifted.
“That sounded like a proposal. Only sleep?”
“For sleep. At least ten minutes.”
Caprice smiled.
“That’s an oddly specific promise.”
“I know who I’m talking to.”
She laughed and took my hand.
Bear followed us.
My bed was still unmade, one pillow crooked where I’d left it.
Caprice climbed under the blanket wearing my clothes.
I got in beside her.
Bear made one slow circle near the foot of the bed and dropped onto the floor with his back against the frame.
Caprice tucked herself against my side.
“This isn’t a nap.”
“What is it?”
“A temporary horizontal pause. We should go back before it gets late, I eventually need my clothes, and the cake had better still be safe.”
I smiled. “We will. Your clothes are drying, and the cake’s still safe in the refrigerator.”
“Good.” Her eyes closed.
I waited a moment.
“You still awake?”
“Completely.”
Less than a minute later, her breathing slowed.
I smiled into her hair.
The morning rounds, brunch, snow, hot shower, and sex had caught up with me too, but sleep took longer.
Caprice was wearing sweatpants I’d ruined in the dryer and one of my shirts. Bear slept at the foot of the bed. Wet winter gear hung in my mudroom. Back at the rental, her suitcase and closed laptop were waiting, along with leftover pasta and the chocolate cake we still hadn’t eaten.
There was nothing temporary-looking about any of it.
That was what got me.
I could picture Caprice here after an ordinary workday, talking through something that had happened on set while I cooked.
I could picture her laptop open at my kitchen table because she had work she genuinely wanted to finish, then closed when she was done.
I could picture Bear under her feet and her suitcase appearing in the hallway often enough that it eventually stopped feeling like luggage.
None of those pictures required Caprice to become somebody else.
Her career mattered to her. The pace mattered. The work mattered.
So did this.
Four days were going to end. The storm would clear, and she’d go back to the life she’d built.
What I wanted was the chance for her to choose her way back to me.