Chapter 12
twelve
WESTON
My knee is sore.
That might be an understatement. It really hurts.
It was worth it to see her laugh, but I definitely overdid it. As soon as we walk in the door, I make a beeline for the couch. Bailey immediately senses something is off, and I grumble at him to stay out of my way. I don’t want to trip over him and tear something else.
The enchantment of this place is finally on my side for once, because as soon as I reach the couch, there’s an ottoman that wasn’t there before.
“You need ibuprofen. And ice. Maybe compression. Should you ice before you put on your brace? Where is it? I’ll grab it.” Bridget is on my heels, and wrings her hands as she stares down at me with round eyes.
“I’m fine,” I say, stifling a groan as I lower myself to the cushions. Bailey immediately leaps onto the couch, pressing his nose into my neck for reassurance. I absently scratch him behind the ears.
“It’s my fault. I told you I wasn’t great at dancing?—”
“Bridget.”
Her eyes lock onto mine, an undecipherable emotion flitting through them. “Yes?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not though,” she insists, and as much as I refuse to admit it to her, she’s right. I’m hurting and would love everything she’s offering.
“There should be ice in the freezer and ibuprofen in my bathroom. The house replenishes as needed.” I tell her, giving her a half smile.
“That’s awfully handy. Be right back!” She rushes around the couch to the kitchen, a thud following soon after as she opens the freezer.
I let out a long breath as she heads to the bathroom.
Technically, I’m approved for things like swimming and jogging—so I figured dancing would be fine. Which was probably true until the point where we fell. The second my facade cracked, and I showed any pain, Bridget mother hen’d me.
And I don’t hate it.
When I was recovering from surgery, my teammates all chipped in and helped make sure my kitchen was stocked with food. Holly and Cade were at my apartment way too often for newlyweds, making sure I wasn’t in pain and that Bailey was fed and taken out on schedule.
My parents were dealing with their own mess, since my dad had an unexpected double knee replacement.
I hated being someone else’s responsibility. I hated not being able to take care of my dog. And it was the first time I ever truly hated being alone.
“Would you want to watch a movie?” I call out, unsure of where she is in the house at this point.
She appears at the edge of my vision, clutching an ice pack, a bottle of water and some meds.
“Together?” She swallows.
I hold a hand out for my stuff and she snaps out of her strange little trance. Without saying a word, she opens the bottle and shakes out two pills. I give her my best ‘more’ gesture with my hand and she flinches as she shakes out one more.
“I guess we could coordinate and watch the same movie in two rooms,” I quip, twisting the cap off the water bottle. In the field of vision beyond my drink, Bridget is blurry but flustered and red.
I seem to bring that color out in her often.
“What would you want to watch?” She leans over and cautiously drapes the ice pack over my knee, adjusting it so it covers the entire area. I bend it enough that she can tug the velcro strips around and fasten them so it won’t slide off.
She’s gentle with her touch, but quick and precise. No nonsense, like pretty much everything else she does.
“You can pick,” I sigh, eager for relief to wash over me.
She glances up at me. “What if I want to watch How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days ? I might need lessons in love ferns.”
“We could get a love fern.” I shrug. “I’m pretty sure ferns are pretty hard to kill.”
“Are you insinuating I can’t keep plants alive?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
I’m genuinely curious if it’s normal to enjoy getting under someone’s skin this much. Bridget is full of expression when she’s irritated with me, much bolder and willing to say what’s on her mind.
I’ve noticed she’s not afraid to give directions, but she rarely voices what she wants. I have a lot of questions about that, but I’m not about to push her. She doesn’t trust me yet.
“Can you?”
“I’ll have you know I have a thriving collection of succulents at home. A whole thicket.”
I open my mouth to tell her that I’m not sure a group of succulents counts as a thicket when they’re probably in cute little jars she arranges just so , but I don’t have the energy.
I tilt my head. “You realize succulents are probably the least needy plant, right?”
“That’s beside the point,” she says, glancing away from me to brush imaginary lint off her clothes.
“Turn it on.”
Bailey is comfortably sprawled beside me on the middle cushion, but his ears twitch as our conversation volleys back and forth. I wish he could tell me what he thinks of her because I’m honestly pretty intrigued.
I don’t miss the way her body language shifts, her mouth falling slightly agape for the briefest of moments before she collects herself again.
“You’re serious?”
“I’m just going to sit here, anyway.” I lean my head on the cushion, adjusting to get more comfortable. “Do you have plans?”
She hesitates, rubbing the tips of her fingers together in thought. “No.”
“Then, be my guest. Take a seat.”
“I’m going to change first. Not really the best loungewear.”
I’m grouchy, and I’m afraid I’m taking it out on Bridget. I really need to cut it out.
“You looked great tonight, Bridget.” I swallow. “Beautiful.”
Right on cue, color floods her cheeks. “You looked pretty great yourself. I’ll be right back.”
True to her word, she’s back in less than five minutes wearing the outfit I picked out for the scavenger hunt.
I’m not sure what that means, except that it was either convenient or she’s sending me a subliminal message, which is probably wishful thinking. Lines are blurring, and I’m not sure what to make of it.
Bridget folds herself into a small space on the furthest end of the couch, wrapping a blanket around her that was draped over the arm. I’m honestly surprised that she’s sitting here, but not disappointed. Bailey lifts his head to check out this fresh development before issuing a grunt and resuming his position.
Before either of us can grab a remote, the TV flickers on and starts playing the movie. Which is definitely not something that’s happened before.
“Well, that’s new,” she mutters.
“The house seems to be pretty invested in our relationship status, Spitfire. What do you say? Is ‘it’s complicated’ still an option to post on social media?”
She shakes her head before rising to her feet. Worried I pushed too far, I lean forward—ready to apologize—until she crosses the room to grab a blanket off the back of the plush reading chair by the window. Without saying a word, she unfolds it and tosses it across me, adjusting it so my toes are covered, and then settles back into her seat.
Like the house is whispering its approval, the lights in the space dim, providing a cozy glow without pitching us into total darkness.
Interesting.