“I really do,” I say, and I feel better from talking to them. I needed to get that off my chest.
Now that I have, I’m confident I can do this. They’re right. I can handle this new level of awkward. I can manage the sexual tension. It won’t be a problem at all.
I say goodbye, then leave the bathroom, and I survey my bedroom. Guess it’s time to pack an overnight bag for a few—gulp—tempting weeks.
There’s a knock on the door. I head over and open it, then startle. It’s the sexy man I need to resist. And my pulse is surging.
“I came to help you pack,” he says, and it’s a thoughtful gesture. Like something a boyfriend would do rather than a bodyguard.
But I can’t linger on that thought so I say, “Let’s do it.”
His gaze snaps to my nightstand, and I follow it. The fox he made at Pick Me Up sits atop my paperback. A smile curves his lips, but he says nothing.
I don’t either as I drop two books from my nightstand into a canvas bag, then head to the closet and grab my overnight bag—the one I used when I visited my sister in San Francisco last month. I bring it to the bed and unzip it. “I’ll grab some clothes and toiletries,” I say, then head to the bathroom again to gather some things.
When I return with a bag of lotions and potions, Banks is staring at me like a cat who’s just finished eating a very delicious trout.
“What is it?” I ask, unsure what that wicked grin is about.
His gaze drifts to my bag. Inside it is a small box. I left it open when I put the bag away because I didn’t want to throw out the contents.
One origami bird.
“You kept that too.”
“It’s a nice bird,” I say defensively.
“It really is.” A pause. A nod of his head toward the nightstand. “So’s the fox.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“It’s quite a collection.”
“Banks,” I warn.
“Don’t worry. I’ll forget all about it,” he says, turning my words back on me. But he’s smiling, like he’s deliciously pleased with the twin discoveries.
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure you’ll never let me forget it.”
“I see you understand me finally,” he says, then helps me pack.
The thing is, I think I do understand him, and I like it too much.
Or him.
25
ONE-BED-NESS
RIPLEY
But I don’t make it to the cottage right away because there’s too much to deal with on the farm. Finally, after I check off a few more items on my to-do list, but don’t finish it, because what even is finishing a to-do-list, I close my laptop and set it down on the couch in the living room.
Grandma’s back from her day with Daisy and friends, but I play the toilet paper fairy anyway since she’s hanging out with Haven. While they catch up, I make sure all the bathrooms are stocked, checking with the guests to see who needs towels and who forgot toothpaste. I’ve learned the guy with the undercut is Arjun; he’s the director of photography, and he’s from New Jersey. He forgot floss, so I give him some and then give him points for excellent dental care. I have extras on hand of everything, so next up I give some of my favorite cruelty-free Tom’s toothpaste to the bearded, bald guy who said he forgot to bring some. His name is Sam, he’s Australian, and he’s the AD.
“Thanks so much. Really appreciate this,” Sam says, standing in front of his first-floor room as he clutches the tube to his chest like it’s a prize.
“Happy brushing.”
