My cheeks warm at the compliment and his intense gaze. “Not sure offering up my sofa is great hospitality, but you’re welcome nonetheless.”
His expression dims ever so slightly. “I’ve slept on a lot worse.” I suddenly wish I could take it back, but he doesn’t give me the opportunity. “Where do you want my things? I doubt you want it all dumped on your floor?”
“Oh, you can just leave them there for now. I made some room for you, but it’s late and…” I glance around, feeling awkward.
This is all feeling very real.
He’s going to be sleeping in my living room, just down the hall.
His stuff will be next to mine in the shower. Does he sleep in? What if he sees my underwear in the laundry? Will I see his?
A week ago, these were all questions I would have felt comfortable bringing up with him. We would have laughed about it, but I doubt there was a subject between us that was off limits—except maybe romantic relationships. I don’t think I want to know about his dating history. Like ever.
But since we woke up in that hotel room, things have been weird between us. I feel like I’m talking to a stranger at the checkout line in the supermarket, rather than a lifelong friend I just happened to marry on a wild night in Vegas.
“Are you hungry?”
I expect him to say he’s too tired. It’s after three in the morning, and he’s still on Eastern time, which makes it even later for him, but he just nods and replies, “Starving, actually.”
“Okay.” I smile to myself. Maybe we just need food to help smooth things over. I begin walking to the kitchen, but he stops me.
“Why don’t you take a seat, and I’ll make us something?” He points to the single barstool tucked under the kitchen island that I use instead of a dining table.
Shit, I should probably have two of those now.
I stand there staring as he walks over and starts to wash his large hands in my tiny sink. In fact, my whole kitchen looks ridiculously small with him in it. “But you’ve had a long day, and you don’t even know where anything is.”
“We’ve both had long days, and I can manage. Plus, I still don’t sleep much. Kind of handy in my chosen profession.” He shrugs as he starts to roll up his sleeves. I always thought I preferred tattooed men, but his muscular forearms, with their smooth, tanned skin, are beginning to prove me wrong.
Why am I suddenly picturing him with a Goonies tattoo then?
“Besides, I like to cook.”
I shove that thought aside and fold my arms across my chest, trying to look offended. “I like to cook.” He gives me an amused smirk, already rummaging through cabinets until he finds a sauté pan. “Okay, fine. I don’t mind cooking. I just prefer when someone else does it.”
“Well, consider me your personal chef for the next three months,” he says lightly, though his voice is strained. “Grilled cheese, okay?”
I nod. “It’s either that or eggs. I’m pretty low on food. I probably should have gone grocery shopping.”
“We can go tomorrow,” he suggests. “Then I’ll know what you like.”
“Seems like you already do.”
His gaze finally lifts to meet mine. “Always have. Doesn’t mean I don’t need a refresher, though.”
“Right.” I swallow, watching as he reaches into the fridge to grab the butter and cheese. “And maybe while we’re spending some time together, we can work on what exactly we’re going to tell my family on Sunday.”
He arches a brow and smirks. “And how are we going to convince them we’re in love when things are so very awkward between us?”
I let out a relieved breath. “Yes. It’s bad, right?”
He chuckles, and the sound of it instantly soothes the anxiety storming inside of me. “Yeah, we’ve been a little off since Naked Friday.”
“Naked Friday? Is that what you’re calling that morning in Vegas?” I snort out a laugh. “Also, we weren’t naked!”
He shrugs. “Sounds better than half-naked Friday. And a guy can dream, right?”
I throw a towel at him, and he tries to duck but catches it at the last second and throws it back in my direction. I laugh when it lands on the counter next to me. He was never great at sports.
