Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
REECE
Why did I think inviting Andi to live with me was a good idea? Since I offered two days ago, I’ve been telling myself it will be fine, but every time I see her, I have second thoughts. Living with a female friend would be one thing, but the little zing of attraction I felt when I met Andi—and the embarrassing royal crush—have only gotten stronger each time we’re together.
And tonight, Teo made it quite clear how he feels about it. I tried to assure him I have pure intentions, but Andi took off. I had to follow her since she didn’t have a key to the house, yet. Plus, I’m not taking all the heat for this alone. Silly me—I thought she would have told him before she moved out. I’ll call him tomorrow. Or better yet, we can stop by his office together and put his brotherly mind at ease.
Which solves the big-brother-killing-me problem but not the others. How am I going to survive living platonically with Andi?
After I checked my weather app—possible thunderstorm tonight—we ended up moving all of her things into the house. It’s not much, but a stack of used boxes and grocery bags clutters the small living room. I carry her suitcase upstairs and set it beside the bed in my room. “You’ll be in here.”
“I’m not taking your room!” She loiters in the hall, her face pink.
“I told you, it’s the only one with a mattress.”
She looks at the bed, then down the hall. “If there’s no other bed, where are you going to sleep?”
“I’ve got my camping gear in the other bedroom.” I move closer, but she’s standing in the doorway, blocking my exit.
“That’s not right. I can sleep in the tent.”
With a chuckle, I grab her by the shoulders and gently pivot her out of the way. “There’s no tent. Just a sleeping bag and pad.” I move down the short hall to the second bedroom and open the door. “See?”
She walks past me and stares down at the bedroll in the middle of the floor. After a long look, she leans down to poke the bedding with a doubtful finger. “That’s not very comfy.”
“It’s great. I like camping, and here there aren’t any surprise rocks to dig into my back. And no wildlife to worry about.” As if in response, a coyote yips and howls, its pack replying.
Andi’s eyes go big. “That wasn’t an artsy squirrel.”
“No, it was a pack of coyotes. Haven’t you heard them before?”
Her head shakes. “I’ve heard of them. But we don’t have them in Freiberg. And I never heard them in town. Maybe they hibernate in the winter.”
“Nope. But they tend to stay away from cities. Don’t worry, they won’t attack your shoe collection.”
She slaps my arm. “I don’t have my shoe collection here. And if I did, I wouldn’t have left it in the truck overnight. The Grand—my aunt’s… friend told me about foxes stealing her mother’s garden shoes.” She nudges the sleeping bag with the toe of her leather boot. “I can sleep here.”
My lips twitch at her reluctant tone and expression. “Kind of you to offer, but I don’t loan out my sleeping bag. It’s a camper thing.”
She nods seriously, as if this makes perfect sense. “That settles it then. But if you change your mind…”
“Nope.” I head across the hall. “I’m going to brush my teeth, then the bathroom is all yours. The water is really hot, so be careful if you use the shower.”
“Thanks.” She glances from the bathroom door to my face, then back at her bedroom. “Um, I didn’t think about?—”
I wait, but she doesn’t continue. “About what? You can use my shampoo and stuff.” My cheeks go a little warm at the idea of her using my toiletries. I never realized a bar of soap could feel so personal.
She blushes, too. “No, I brought mine. It’s just… I don’t have a robe.”
“I promise not to peek at you in your frilly nightgown.” My face heats even more, and I try to imagine Andi in a full-length, high-necked plaid gown like my grandmother wore, but that does nothing to cool me down. Who knew flannel could be sexy?
“Perfect.” Her cheeks flare then pale as she turns away. “Good night.” The bedroom door shuts.
Although it’s dark out, it’s barely past nine. But moving is exhausting, even when you don’t have a lot of stuff. Or maybe especially when you don’t have a lot of stuff—coming face to face with your lack of material possessions must be hard for a former princess. And the encounter with Teo heightened the emotions. Plus, the reality of being alone with a relative stranger in an isolated house… Now I’m exhausted.
I do my thing in the bathroom, leaving the light on and the door open when I finish. I hesitate in the hallway for a moment. What’s the protocol for a shared bathroom? Do I knock and tell her it’s free? Or just let her figure it out for herself? I split the difference by calling out “Good night.”
Her door opens as I reach my room, and she sticks her head out. “Good night, Reece. And thank you for taking me in.”
I nod gravely. “You’re welcome. And don’t worry, I’ll make you earn it.”
Her eyes go wide and her lips part in surprise. The little intake of breath sets off a cascade of desire that flusters me.
I choke. “I mean, you’ll—we’ll both work hard. Never mind. Good night.” I back away and shut the door.
Her musical laugh filters through the flimsy panels. “Good night.”
* * *
Although I meant what I said about camping, falling asleep doesn’t come easy. Even with two closed doors between us, the sound of running water reaches me easily. I make a mental note to get better doors—when the funds are available—and try to focus my thoughts on my to-do list instead of Andi.
The soft squeak of the bathroom door hinges, followed by the click of the light switch, snaps me out of planning mode. The hall floor creaks as she pads back to my bedroom, then another door opens and closes.
I lie on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Moonlight glows brightly through the window and the coyotes howl again. I can’t hear anything from Andi’s room—the closets provide a double wall of privacy, but I imagine her soft gasp of surprise or fear. I half expect her to knock on my door, like my sister Katie used to do when we were little, but the princess is made of sterner stuff.
* * *
Thunder rumbles through the house, waking me. I grope for my watch, set in its charger beside my head: two thirty. The next lightning strike blinds me, and I count the seconds until the crack. That one was a couple miles off in the mountains behind the house. I yawn and roll onto my back, listening for the pitter-patter of rain but hearing only wind and another strike.
The flashes grow longer and more frequent, and the crashing strikes come louder and faster. Should I close the window? It’s only open a few inches, and the overhang of the dormer roof should protect me from the rain—if it reaches the ground. Often the moisture evaporates in the atmosphere.
When a strike cracks almost simultaneously with the flash and close enough to shake the house, my door slams open. Andi stands in the doorway, the almost constant lightning illuminating her pale face—and her legs beneath a long T-shirt.
I sit up, trying to ignore the pounding of my heart that has nothing to do with the storm. “What’s wrong?”
“I thought that hit us!” Her statement ends with a squeal of alarm as another bang shakes the house. “That was close!” Her voice wobbles.
“It didn’t hit us.” I rise as I speak between the booms and flashes. “We’re fine.” I put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re shaking.”
Another strike makes her jump, and she lunges at me, burying her face in my chest. “I hate thunder.”
I pull her cold and trembling body close, wrapping my arms around her. “You’re safe.” I lean my cheek against her hair and whisper nonsense into her ear. “It can’t get you in here. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
That’s not completely true. Here in the high desert, lightning strikes cause a lot of wildfires. Which is why I was listening for rain, but it hasn’t arrived yet. I peer out between the ugly drapes but see only continued flashes. No sparks or flames.
“Come on, sit down.” I guide her to my sleeping bag and try to ease her down, but her arms convulse around my waist. Awkwardly, I get us both to our knees, then sitting side by side on the sleeping bag. Wind blows through the slightly open window, bringing a rough electric feeling and cool wind.
Andi shivers, still clinging to me. “When will it stop?” She winces at the next crash.
“Soon.” I stroke her back rhythmically, trying to infuse my voice with calm. The storm works hard to counter my efforts. “That cooler air is a good sign. There’s probably rain coming.”
“I don’t want more storm.” She whimpers at another flash and bang and presses her face against my sternum. Dampness seeps into my shirt.
“Don’t cry. We’re safe here.” I grab the edge of the sleeping bag and try to wrap it around us, but it won’t reach. “Lie back. Let’s get you warm.” She doesn’t argue as I ease us down, my arm still holding her close. I fling the bedding around us both and tuck it under my arm, wrapping us in a cocoon of warmth. She presses her face against me, eyes clamped shut. I pull the sleeping bag over her head to shield her from the brilliant flashing.
As the storm continues, Andi jumps a little with each bang, but her shuddering eases. Her fingers release their cramped grip on my shirt, and as the strikes recede, she relaxes. The wind whirling through the open window softens to a cool breeze.
I wait until the lightning no longer lights up the window, then fold the sleeping bag away from her head. It’s pitch dark in the bedroom, so I can’t see her face, but her breathing has evened out. Then a gentle light streams in as the heavy clouds skid across the sky, revealing the nearly full moon. Andi’s eyes are closed, and her breath ruffles the damp spot on my T-shirt. Then the light dies again.
“Andi?” I whisper.
“Mm?”
“Are you awake?”
“Mm.” She nestles closer. A little snore makes me smile—she’s obviously asleep.
I should send her back to her room. If I were a knight in a fairy tale, I’d carry her back, but I’m not sure I could get to my feet without dropping her. Besides, my sleeping bag is warm and comfortable. And the woman in my arms feels so good. She fits perfectly, as if she was made for me.
My sleepy brain tries to convince me I should wake her, but my body has other ideas. As the first gentle patters of rain tap on the porch roof outside my window, my limbs grow heavy and my eyelids close. I’ll just wait until the rain stops, then take her back. This is the high desert—it never rains for long.