“Well, that’s one good thing about being a man. You can have children when you’re eighty.”
He laughed, surprised. “What about you?”
“I want a house with a yard and a dog. Eventually. Someplace to come home to. Kids…” She raised her gaze to his. “Chris didn’t want children. Not his own. He takes care of so many sick children already. He never said, but I think he’s afraid if he had children—if we had children—he’d have to watch them die, like the kids at the hospital.”
Hell.
Anne’s teeth scraped her lip. “Sometimes, after dealing with teenagers all day, I’d think, fine, no kids, I’m okay with that. Obviously, I never planned on backpacking through Europe with a baby. But the kids are the very best part of teaching. I guess I hoped he might change his mind. Someday. Not with me now, obviously. But I should have realized everything always came down to his work. I built this big, elaborate dream of what our future would be like, but that’s all it was. A dream.” Her eyes were sad. “He never let me in. There’s no space for me in his life. We only fit together as long as I didn’t take up too much room.”
The idea of Anne—animated, generous, expansive Anne—trying to squeeze herself into the corners of somebody else’s life made his chest cramp.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you to bed. Things will look better in the morning.”
She stood obediently, swaying a little from the cocktails or fatigue. He put a hand under her elbow to steady her.
“Thanks. You’ve been wonderful. Sorry I ruined your evening.” Her gaze focused on the open sofa bed. “Is that where we’re sleeping?”
He should have thought this through. “Unless that’s a problem.”
“It’s the only-one-bed trope!”
“What?”
“It’s a rom-com staple.”
He had no idea what she was talking about.
“It Happened One Night?” she offered. “Leap Year?The Proposal? Two people who aren’t in a relationship are forced to sleep together, leading to embarrassment and unresolved sexual tension.”
He bit the inside of his cheek. “Tension, huh?”
“Unresolved.” A smile curled her mouth. “Usually one of them sleeps on the floor.”
“You want me to sleep on the floor.”
“No, I’m just saying, that’s one scenario.”
“Because I can. Or there’s a chair.” A lumpy recliner. Not where he wanted to spend the night, especially with work in the morning.
But she shook her head. “You’re too tall. Anyway, I’m the one crashing at your place. Your friend’s place. If anybody takes the floor, it should be me.”
“Not happening.”
She gave him a lopsided smile. “Then I guess we’re sharing.”
They took turns in the bathroom. After a moment’s thought, he filled a glass with water and shook two ibuprofen into his palm.
When he came out, she was sprawled across the mattress wearing nothing but skimpy sleep shorts and a T-shirt, her hair and her legs sticking out every which way. For some reason, this made him smile.
What had she said about Dr.Dick? “There’s no space for me in his life. We only fit together as long as I didn’t take up too much room.”
“Take all the room you want,” he murmured.
But she only mumbled, already out.
He set the glass on the table next to the couch, eased in beside her, and pulled the covers over them both. The way she was hugging the mattress, hogging the bed, he couldn’t avoid touching her, so he didn’t try. It had been a long time—two years—since he’d slept with anybody. She smelled good. Sweet, like fruit juice. Her body was warm beside his. Her breath puffed in and out. Her naked feet brushed his. She rolled toward his weight, nuzzling his arm.Pest.He kissed her forehead, and she made this little noise and threw her bare leg over his hairy one.
His lungs stopped. Her hair tickled his neck. She was almost sober. If he touched her, if he woke her, it wouldn’t be taking advantage.
