Chapter 9 #2
Wells scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, I just, you know, wanted to stretch my legs, and…”
She didn’t like Wells, but she wasn’t going to toss him out into an icy blizzard. “Could Luca and Olivia pick you up?”
“No one with a child is risking themselves on my behalf.” He peered out across the town square toward the diner for some reason. “I’ll walk home. It’ll be fine.”
He handed Harry/Smokey to her.
Wells unlocked the door and yanked, having trouble opening it. “I think it’s...iced shut?” he said, finally yanking it free. A clatter of icicles fell onto the sidewalk as ice and snow blew in. The door slammed against the wall, knocking down a picture frame.
“Shut the door!” Allison yelled as Harry clutched paws around her neck.
Wells shut the door and shook the ice out of his hair from his three seconds outside. “Jesus H. Blizzard,” he muttered.
What’s the alternative?
Allison looked outside and then at Wells still wiping off snow.
Their eyes connected, and understanding dawned in his eyes at the same time.
Oh.
Oh god.
We’re snowed in.
Trapped in a store overnight with a man that stomped on every last nerve. What could go wrong?
She sighed, accepting her fate. “I can’t have your ice-covered corpse on my conscience. Just”—Why do you hate me, universe?—“stay here.”
He scoffed. “And sleep…? In the floral cooler? On the loveseat made for malnourished fourth graders in the loft?” He pointed to the small space overlooking Bloom.
Her lips wanted to tug into a smile, but she caught them in time. “I’m sure a perfectly healthy fourth grader could fit on it. You’ll be fine.”
“Be serious,” he said as she locked the door and turned out the lights.
She smirked. “I am. If you hadn’t made that flannel nightcap joke, I’d have offered the other half of the bed—”
“Nightgown joke. The nightcap was Scrooge’s—”
“Definitely not getting the other half now—”
“Shouldn’t I, as the customer, get preference—”
“Shouldn’t you, as a man, not be a giant baby?” she said, poking her finger into his soft chest.
Their bodies were oddly close in the dark store, as if they’d argued their way to one another.
She yanked her finger back, realizing some people might consider that flirting.
Which she was obviously not doing.
“This…is a terrible idea.” His face fell as he stared up at the studio.
Where the bed awaited them.
She sucked in a resigned breath. “Yes, yes it is.”
He wiped a slow hand across his mustache and gestured to the stairs. “After you.”
Two quiet flights of stairs later, the pencil-shaving-and-paint-scented air of the studio loft greeted Allison like a familiar hug.
She shivered as she grabbed a bowl of water for Harry. The studio wasn’t insulated and was chillier than she’d expected.
“I can sleep downstairs,” Wells said, hovering in the doorway of the studio. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I just need to use the bathroom and grab a blanket.”
Being uncomfortable hadn’t even occurred to her. She shrugged as if she had co-ed sleepovers with men every weekend. “It’s fine. Just sleep up here. We’re adults…when you’re not being a giant baby.”
She didn’t meet his eyes though as she closed the door to the small bathroom.
It was somehow incredibly important that Wells think he had absolutely no effect on her whatsoever.
He’s just a random man, no more, no less, she thought, washing her makeup off with hand soap. Like a scarecrow. Or a mannequin. Or a doctor’s office skeleton.
Still, she told her insides to quiet down at the thought of lying next to him all night.
As she opened the bathroom door, she was met with the sight of him in a cable-knit sweater, his hair mussed as Harry played with it.
She gulped again.
He has a nice smile, when it’s not turned into a smirk. That was something you could think about someone you didn’t like. It’s an objective fact. Biological, even.
Wells set the cat down and pulled off his watch. He tossed it with his billfold and phone. The velvety cashmere of his sweater looked cozy, and Allison briefly wondered what it might feel like to press her face into it.
He looked at the bed. “If you’re sure—”
“—I said we’re adults, Wells. It’s fine.” She tucked her hair behind her ears.
Are you a people pleaser? Yes.
Do you actually want to sleep next to a small mountain of a man that smells like he was chemically made for your sex drive in a lab?
Shut up, brain.
“All right. See you over there, champ,” he said and went into the bathroom.
Allison thumped her head against the kitchenette cabinets. Why does the universe hate me? Why, why, why, why, whyyyyyy?
Receiving no answers, she made a cozy bed for Harry/Smokey as Wells came out of the bathroom.
“Do you have a preferred side of the bed?” she asked.
“I mean, I’m used to a king because…” He gestured at himself.
“Same, honestly.” Allison grimaced. “I don’t know how this is going to work.”
She sat gingerly on the bed as Wells toed off his shoes.
“It’s small but a hell of a lot better than a mile and a half of ice.” Wells settled under the quilts. He stretched his arms out behind his head.
She envied his ability to take up space. He was a big guy, had a belly, larger-than-life personality, and was unapologetic about it.
She picked at her cuticles, soothing herself. She hated feeling too big for a space. In third grade, when she’d already been taller than her teacher, her swing had broken mid-swing.
Her butt had hurt from falling, but the echoing laughter of the boys making fun of her for being a giant hurt way worse. The shape of the bruise was still somewhere inside of her.
Allison toed off her shoes, grateful she’d worn a chunky, warm sweater, and climbed underneath the covers, hugging the edge of the bed.
The last thing she wanted was to hear him complain about how much room she took up. Like Keith always had.
She clicked off the light and snuggled into the pillow, facing away from him.
Now…just…fall asleep.
She tried to ignore the sound of Wells’s breathing. Her eyes fluttered open, feeling like she’d downed three espressos.
She’d never get any sleep tonight.
The coldness from the sheets and quilts seeped through her clothes. She’d already been chilly, but this was somehow worse.
A full-body shiver shuttered through her.
“Cold?” Wells said into the darkness.
Obviously. “No, I’m fine,” she said as another shiver racked her spine.
“Why do you do that? Say you’re fine when you obviously aren’t?” he said to the back of her head.
Because if I don’t ask much of people, maybe they’ll like me?
And then if I make everyone’s life easier, maybe I’ll be safe?
Because when I was helpful, my parents seemed to like me, and I guess it stuck?
“I am fine. I’m easygoing,” she said casually, clenching her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.
He snorted as if this was ridiculous.
She could practically feel the heat radiating off of him underneath the covers, and it only made her madder. She burrowed into the sheets, trying to warm up.
She rubbed her hands over her arms.
Wells sighed, a long-suffering sound. “Would you like my sweater?” he said, sounding bored.
God, that sounds amazing.
He doesn’t mean it, though. “No, I’m fine.”
She tucked the quilt under her feet and rubbed her legs against each other like a cricket. This will work just as well. A shiver racked her body.
How the heck is it colder in the bed than outside of it? Her feet sort of started to warm up as she moved them back and forth.
Another sigh sounded from behind her and itched irritation up her spine. “You’re bouncing the bed so much I can’t sleep.”
Good. Then you can suffer like me as I turn into a quilt-covered icicle.
“I’ll be fin-n-ne,” she lied, her teeth chattering on the last word.
He growled in irritation. “You are so annoying.”
The mattress dipped, and Allison’s whole body was tugged backward in the bed. “You can move away once you’re warm,” Wells said, tucking her against him, the big spoon to her little.
The warmth cascading off of him made Allison shudder with pleasure.
“Are you part f-f-furnace?” Her head had landed on his bicep that felt like a thermal spa.
“I’ve always run hot.” He tucked the blankets closer around her.
They lay there in silence for a few minutes as Allison started to feel her extremities again. She ever so slightly pressed back into him for maximum warmth.
The heat of his body seeped into her and around her, and she wiggled her legs back and forth to warm them by the fire that was Wells Maroo.
“You’re gonna need to stop wiggling,” he muttered.
“I’m not wiggling,” she lied. “Just trying to get blood flowing into my feet,” she said, scooting them back and forth against her legs.
His hand clamped on her hip. “I need you to stop wiggling.” It sounded like an empty threat.
“Oh, my gosh, stop being such a baby,” she said, burrowing in harder, finally getting the feeling back in her toes.
“Allison,” he growled.
“What? What is your problem?” she said, moving her legs, still trying to warm them up.
“Because”—he clamped a leg over hers so she froze—“my cock is a big fan of an ass rubbing back and forth on it. It doesn’t realize that the ass hates me and that I find the ass very annoying.” His voice was as rough as sandpaper.
His breathing sounded labored in her ear, like he was holding himself back.
She could feel his heartbeat against her back and could tell it was quick.
Almost as quick as hers.
“Sorry,” she said, quietly, trying to keep her jumbled feelings at bay.
The weight of his leg over hers and his hand digging into her hip? Delicious.
The scent of him? Liquefyingly good, if the keening need in her middle was any indicator.
His personality? Irritating beyond all reason.
The silence was deafening.
Neither of them moved a muscle.
“If I’m making you uncomfortable, I’ll sleep downstairs,” he said quietly.
No.
Don’t want that.
…Because of the heat. She pinched her brows together and rolled her lips as she told herself the truth. And because I like the idea of turning on the man that hates me.
“No, it’s fine. It’s just physiology.” She shrugged, trying to be Cool Girl that Didn’t Freak Out About Erections. It’s fine; I sleep next to men all the time and see erections, like, every week, is what she’d say.
“You are a platinum-certified people pleaser,” he said without malice. But ouch, still. The accuracy. “You need to tell me if I need to go. I’m not sure—” He paused, clearing his throat.
She narrowed in on every nanosecond of the silence.
German Shepherds would be jealous of her superhuman hearing as she measured Wells’s hesitation, his earnest-but-embarassed tone, and the heat of his breath against her ear to know how close he was to her.
“I’m not sure,” Wells continued, “when I can make it…stand down.”
A bratty, secret part of her wanted to punish him. Scoot back and forth and torture him.
Feel the lead pipe she’d seen in her cottage.
She settled on Cool Girl that Didn’t Freak Out About Erections instead. “Truly, I’m fine.”
Seeming satisfied, he pulled his leg back and released her hip, settling a heavy arm over the quilt on her hip. The weight of it felt exquisite, grounding her body.
And suddenly, there they were—spooning.
Just two bodies in the dark as the wind and snow howled outside.
Her mind was running a million miles an hour, trying to calm down, trying to not think about how good he felt around her, how long it had been since she’d slept next to somebody.
Wells’s hand stretched out in front of her as her head rested on his arm. His arm was beefy—there were muscles underneath his softness. Each finger of his hand was wide and thick.
She gulped, trying to push away images of where those fingers and hands had been in an elevator four years ago.
Her pulse quickened. She willed her body to stay exactly where it was.
To not turn around and bury her face in this man’s neck. It wouldn’t help things if she twined her legs through his, sliding into him like he was the other end of the buckle she was made for.
She closed her eyes, trying to think about anything else: her plans for her next knitting project, a new and final take on the centerpieces for Courtney, how much snow would be on her car in the morning.
“You awake?” Wells asked into the dark.
She sighed, annoyed with herself. “Unfortunately.”
“Good.” His voice was bright and resolute, sounding like he’d decided something.
Her spidey senses tingled.
Would he ask her to move over? Say she was being annoying by keeping him awake?
His single sentence, however, shattered every coherent thought in Allison’s brain.
“I think we should have a baby.”