“Just grill it with a little olive oil and it’ll be delish,” Wanda says as they head to the car.
A few minutes later, Hudson and I are back at the cottage. I knock on the door, and Banks swings it open.
“You didn’t follow me to the house,” I point out.
“I figured you weren’t going to run tonight. Plus, I was holding your origami menagerie hostage.”
He’s set the bird and the fox on the coffee table. The damning evidence is now home decor. He must have snuck the fox out of my room without me noticing. He is stealthy. I head inside, Hudson trotting behind me, giving a lick hello to his new friend.
In the few minutes I’ve been gone, Banks has already set a pillow on the couch and spread out the blanket that had been on the foot of the bed.
Shame. I was hoping he’d talked himself into sharing.
The pillows are stacked against the headboard, and I’m under the covers in my cami and sleep shorts, the dog snoozing at my feet,Banks reading on the couch. He’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt, the ink on his arms on full display. His knees are tucked up.
Since he doesn’t fit.
I sigh from the bed.
He turns a page.
I flip another page in my book.
He slides a little lower on the couch, knees jutting higher.
I read another page.
He flips to the next one in his book.
I slap my book down on the cover. “This is stupid. If you’re not going to sleep with the gardening equipment, just share the bed.”
Slowly, he turns his head, meeting my gaze, his lips quirking up. “Is that your way of telling me to hit the shed?”
“No. Just come here. I won’t bite.”
He puts the book down on the coffee table. “What if I like biting?”
A whoosh of heat rushes through me. “Do you?” I ask in a low voice, then shake my head. I don’t want to know. Only because I do want to know. “Forget I asked.”
“Okay.”
“Banks,” I say with a sigh.
“Yes, Ripley?”
“We can handle this,” I say.
His stoic expression fades. There’s real concern in his eyes. “You think so?”
“Yes,” I say, emphatic. “I have faith in us.”
With a heavy sigh, he stares back at the couch with disdain. “Good, because this couch sucks.”
He grabs his pillow, comes around to the bed, and sets it down. Then he slides under the covers, patting them on his chest.
We’re like two sticks in a bed.
I try to come up with a topic to relieve the tension, when he says, “Sam wants you.”
