Chapter 28 Night and Day #2
But what I see surprises me. There’s a knowing smirk on his face. A smile that says he has a secret. He rolls his lips, lifts the cup of champagne, and swallows a sip.
Then he blows out a very satisfied breath.
Okay, I’ll bite. I point at his lovely mouth. “What on earth is that smile for?”
He shrugs confidently. “I know what he said.”
My eyes pop out. “Did you peek?”
“Nope.”
“Then how do you know?” I’m genuinely confused.
He tips his forehead to the back of the letter, the side he’s staring at. “He wrote a reply.”
“What?” I whip the paper around, and I can see on the bottom that it’s Russ’s handwriting.
My body floods with sunlight. “Read it.”
The reply is short, but full of a kind of longing that Corbin seems to capture perfectly as he reads.
I know I’m not supposed to say these things.
I know it’s risky. But I can’t seem to stop.
Seeing you is my favorite time of the day.
Seeing you is what makes my day better. Spending time with you is what I enjoy most. And I shouldn’t write that, but I can’t let another day go by without letting you know.
I shudder out a heavy breath, full of admiration for these young lovers. “He was really vulnerable with her.”
“And taken. He was very, very taken with her.”
That’s a fair assessment. “He was.”
Corbin turns to the bakery, staring at the display case, like it’s too much for him to look at me.
But that just means I can enjoy a long glance at him.
After we clean up—both from the champagne and from work—the day catches up with me. A yawn takes over as I head to the door, ready to drive back to San Francisco. Before I set a hand on the knob to open it and fall into my car, Corbin says, “Why don’t you sleep here?”
That’s not a bad idea. The thought of driving another forty minutes is too daunting, since it’s way past nine.
“I have no jammies. I don’t want to sleep in clothes. Or undies.”
“I’ll bring you something.”
“Something of yours?”
“Considering I don’t keep a spare set of women’s jammies at home, yes. The clothes will be mine.”
“Get them now,” I say.
He smacks me on the ass. “Get upstairs. Get in bed. I’ll be back with a comfy outfit.”
“Yes, sir.”
He leaves, and I head upstairs, yawning, then I strip down to my bra and undies, wash my face in the bathroom, and tumble onto the naked mattress.
Oh fuck.
No sheets. This was dumb. Why didn’t I think of this bedding issue? I should go. Head to the city or see if I can crash at Theo’s or maybe Clementine’s. I should at the very least put my clothes back on, in the spirit of our “no more sex” pact.
But the day drifts behind my eyelids, a packed store, a pickleball challenge, a possessive man, the falling apart, and the hoping for more. And then the night floats before me as the day dissolves into just sensations and feelings.
The sound of footsteps climbing the stairs stirs me awake. I push up in bed, on the mattress, yawning, bleary-eyed.
Corbin’s here with affection in his eyes. Fondness, even, as he stares down like he’s been looking at me for a little while. “Hey, let me put the bed together for you.”
I rub my eyes. “You brought sheets?”
“Of course I did.” He offers me a hand and tugs my tired body off the mattress. My limbs feel heavy. My heart is both full and achy.
“I’ll help you,” I say.
He points to another bed in this bunk area and says, “Sit.”
Before I go over there, he hands me a T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts that are way too big for me. I bring them to my nose anyway, both of them, inhaling the clean, fresh laundry scent.
He shakes a sheet out over the mattress as I duck into the bathroom to change.
He’s seen me naked and fucked me senseless, but if we’re sticking to the partnership plan, I don’t want to make things harder for either one of us.
When I return, swimming in his clothes, he’s spreading a blanket on the bed, and my chest squeezes from the thoughtfulness.
It’s white with a sage green-striped pattern and flowers around the edges.
“Did you pick that out?”
“It’s Charlotte’s. She said it was pretty. It was just an extra blanket from the house, but it’s fairly big.”
“And she has good taste.”
“She does.” He fluffs the pillow and puts that down, then pats the bed.
I trudge over and sink onto the mattress again, this time reveling in the clean sheets and soft blanket. I rest my head on the pillow, sighing contentedly. “This was a good idea.”
“You need some rest.”
“So do you. Don’t you have a game tomorrow?”
“I have hockey, and you have baking.” He bends down and dusts the sweetest, most poignant kiss onto my forehead.
It’s hardly the code switch we promised earlier, but I’m not going to protest. Especially since it feels bittersweet, like the kiss is saying it wishes it were more but knows it can’t be.
“Good night, Mabel.” When he pulls back, his brow is furrowed, as if something just occurred to him. “I meant to ask. What did your mom mean about the job in food services?”
Oh, right. That. A pang of sadness lances me as I remember what Mom said. The way my choices never seem like enough for her. “She said she could get me a job at the university in food services. She wants me to have benefits. It’s her weird way of looking out for me.”
“I take it you don’t want to work in food services?”
I shake my head, a soft smile tugging at my lips. “I like it here.”
“We’re going to make this work,” he says, and it’s a new promise, one that settles into my bones as he leaves.
But even though he’s gone, I can’t help but think—or maybe hope—that I’m his favorite part of the day.