Laughing, I ask her more about her day, answer when she asks me about mine, and when the yawns start coming with ever-growing frequency, I say, “Want to hear how Brooks and I first met?”
“Oh, my God, yes!”
So clearly, that interest has the opposite effect of what I intended—to soothe her into sleep—because as I relate how Brooks and I were college roommates and my first meeting with him involved him naked…though not because he was with a woman she’s amused.
Then outraged.
“Those jerks!”
“Yeah,” I agree. “The other guys on the floor were complete dicks. He’d just wanted a shower and they stole his clothes and towel, locked him out of our room.” I chuckle because it’s funny now. “He was covered up—but in the, no pun intended, barest sense of the word. Because the only thing he had was a loofa and it wasn’t covering much.”
“Poor guy.”
“I’d agree with you if we weren’t in a coed dorm and that little stunt meant that he never spent a night alone unless he wanted too.”
“My poor handsome guy,” she says softly, though her eyes dance. “Were you jealous?”
“Nah. He was a good wingman.”
She pops me lightly on the chest. “Rude.”
I kiss the tip of her nose. “No, what was rude was me not having a solid night’s sleep until we moved to an off-campus apartment our junior year and I got my own room.”
She asks a hundred questions about Brooks, about my college years, wants a thousand details I never even thought about, even shares a few of her own that I soak up like the gems they are. But eventually my plan begins to work.
Her yawns come with more regularity.
Her body relaxes fully against mine.
Her breaths even out.
She falls asleep on top of me.
And I hold her close like the precious gift she is.
Thirty-Seven
Marie
My body doesn’t knowwhat time zone I’m supposed to be in, but I’m walking into my office anyway.
I’ve been traveling for three days straight, and while I normally would make a long weekend out of my last stop—especially since it was in central London, one of my favorite places on the planet—I took the company jet back to California.
Because Jace is home.
Because I’ve turned into a sappy woman who wants to be close to my boyfriend, who misses him with what might have been alarming intensity if not for the fact that he made it clear he misses me just as much.
Texts and FaceTime calls. A delivery of dinner from my favorite Covent Garden restaurant to my hotel room when I mentioned our flight was delayed and I wouldn’t be able to make it out before they closed. Talking me down from the edge of panic when Jean-Michel finally had enough of me saying nothing is different and demanded that we talk the moment I get home…and then arranging for a masseuse to come up to my room and give me the best facial and massage of my life.
Jace showing me he can be thoughtful, even from five thousand miles away.
Showing me again that he’s not like the other men.
That he’s one of the good ones—like Jean-Michel.
Thank God for stubborn protective green flags, huh?
So, even though my bones are weary and my inbox is overflowing, every cell in my body itchy to skip these few hours in the office to catch up and meet with Jean-Michel, I see that his thoughtfulness continues.
