Now that there’s no longer weight on my feet, they ache more than I realized. I slide my feet out of my fuzzy mules and bend a knee so I can rub at one arch with my thumb.
Aiden simply shakes his head and motions with his hand for me to scoot back.
“Hey—” I start. “You don’t have to?—”
“I know,” he says. Then, quieter. “Let me take care of you.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, then I move to where pillows are piled against the headboard.
He sits on the bed, sliding my socks off at a rate that suggests he’s got nowhere else he’d rather be. And once he cups my foot with his warm hand and presses his thumbs into the ache, I’mgladhe’s got nowhere else to be.
I close my eyes.
“That feels…like it should be illegal,” I murmur.
He chuckles. “You’ve kept this house running for days, Chlo. Your feet are allowed to complain.”
A small laugh slips out of me. It fades into a sigh as his hands move to my other foot, steady and sure, like he’s done this a hundred times and knows the exact places my feet ache.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
I don’t open my eyes. “Carter wants to know where to ski. Reid wants to know if I still talk to Gaby. Someone else is probably hungry.”
“Gaby, your old college roommate?” he asks.
“Mmmm. They teach together at Enchanted Hollow Elementary now. She and a couple of her sister’s have a cute little café on their farm and lots of books.”
His thumb hits an especially sore spot, and a small moan escapes me.
“Do you still read?”
I open one eye. “That’s random.”
He shrugs, shifting the pressure to my ankles. “You mentioned books.”
“When I can,” I answer lazily. “Don’t really have time anymore.”
My phone buzzes again, twice in a row.
“I should check that,” I groan.
But I don’t want to. I could simply pass away, right here. As it is, I think I’m about to melt into the mattress.
“They’ll live,” Aiden says. His thumbs press deeper, just enough to make my toes curl. “You don’t have to manage everyone right now.”
“I don’t really know how to turn that off,” I admit.
He chuckles again. “I’ve noticed.”
I stretch, enjoying the blissful way my back muscles elongate and the way my spine cracks in a couple of spots. My shirt rides up without me noticing, until cool air brushes my skin.
We notice at the same time. Or at least I think we do.
I open my eyes just in time to see his gaze settle on the expanse of exposed skin, where faint silvered lines peek above the waistband of my pajama pants.
Embarrassed, I move to tug it back down, only for him to catch my wrist.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “Don’t hide from me.”
