Then he crosses the short distance back to me, bends, and presses the lightest kiss to my temple. It’s barely-there, a soft brush of lips, but it steals my breath.
“Back in a minute,” he murmurs, voice low.
Then he disappears into the bathroom.
Dizzying heat arcs through me.
I want him.
I want him so much it hurts.
I’m tempted to follow him, though having to don the waterproof cast protector in all its plastic glory isn’t my idea of seduction.
For a moment, I just breathe. Without him beside me, the bed feels strangely empty. My leg throbs as I shift; the pain meds wore off hours ago. With a groan, I sit on the edge of the bed and stretch.
Dust particles dance lazily in the thin beam of light peeking through the curtains.
I reach for my phone—one notification from last night.
Ellenor:Don’t forget to use protection!
“Ugh.” I toss the phone aside. How did she know?
A flutter of something—trepidation, maybe excitement—moves through me as I remember: Brandon and I are going toLondon today to see the luthier. Just the two of us.
I kneel by the guitar case at the foot of the bed. It’s become a morning ritual of mine to look at it, as if I’m expecting to find it has magically repaired itself. Except now, thanks to Brandon, the prospect of restoring it is within reach.
I open the case and stare down, chest tight with cautious hope.
The wood gleams in the faint light, but it’s difficult to see. I stagger to my feet. I’d normally turn the light on, but I suddenly want natural light. It occurs to me I’ve never opened these curtains before. It’s felt wrong to touch anything of Brandon’s while I’ve been staying in his room, but after last night, I don’t feel like such a guest anymore.
“Do you mind if I open these? Let in some light?” I ask as he emerges from the bathroom, fresh and fully dressed. He’s wearing tailored trousers, polished oxfords, and a crisp shirt, and the quiet authority of him dressed like that makes me want to prowl across the room and see if I can lure him back to bed.
My cast ruins any hope of said prowling. I clunk towards the curtains instead.
“Go on,” he says. “I never bother. I only come here to sleep, and there’s a hedge in front for privacy, so there’s not much light to be had.”
“Let me guess…you didn’t want Barbara peeping through with her binoculars?” I tease.
“You say that like it’s not a legitimate concern.”
I grin, sweep the curtains open—
And scream.
“Holy—mother—FUCK!” I yelp, leaping away from the window.
“What?” Brandon vaults over the bed and is by my side in an instant.
A garden gnome with a blue coat and a red pointed cap leers at us through the glass. I shield my face like it might attack me.
I regret ever calling it cute—it’s fucking creepy.
“What the fuck…?” I hiss.
Brandon chuckles. “I was wondering where Barb hid it.”
“But why would she put it there? Right outside your bedroom?”
