“What happens when we wake up?”
That was the million-dollar question. “What do you want to happen?”
“I don’t know.” He didn’t think she was lying. But maybe she wasn’t being entirely truthful either. “I don’t want to go back to the way it was.”
“Agreed.” With his whole heart.
“But I’m not sure how to move on from here.”
He didn’t respond immediately. “I think we have to take it as it comes, Bronwyn. We have so much history and so much still in common that finding our way might not be as hard as we think.”
“Or it could blow up in our faces.” She sounded so sad. “We don’t have a great track record.”
“You mean I don’t have a great track record.” He would own his part in the debacle they’d turned into.
“No—”
“I’m not blaming. It’s true. How about this? Let’s say we don’t know where we’re going, but let’s agree that we’re going somewhere good. We aren’t going backward. We aren’t devolving into mistrust and anger. We’re moving forward. Taking the next step. We don’t have to be able to see the whole path to know that’s the right move, do we?”
“I think,” she said the words slowly, like she was being very careful to get them right, “that sounds like a good idea.”
“Good.” Mo sounded relieved. Had he really thought she would reject his proposal? Taking it a step at a time was as much as she could have possibly hoped for.
“Go get in bed, Bronwyn. You’re tired. I think we’ll both feel better tomorrow.”
She stood and took one step up the stairs, but then, “Mo?”
“Yeah?”
She wanted to tell him she’d missed him and that she was so thankful they were talking. But what she said was, “Don’t think I’ll be throwing the game. I play to win.”
His low chuckle warmed her to her toes. “As long as you understand that the same holds true for me.”
With that, she slid into Meredith’s bed. Her first thought was that she needed to find out where Meredith had gotten the sheets because they were divine. Her last conscious thought was that she should be afraid—someone had tried to kill her today, after all. But she wasn’t.
She was ... almost ... maybe ... happy.
She woke to silence. No. Not silence. There was a sound. What was it? It took her still sleepy brain a moment to make the connection.
A computer. Someone was typing on a computer. Another sound. Someone—no, not someone. Mo. Mo was typing on a computer while she slept the day away!
She bolted out of the bed and down the stairs, thankful that the comfy pajamas she’d thrown into her bag before she left home yesterday could pass for leisurewear.
Mo sat on the sofa in Meredith’s living room. His laptop was on his lap. One leg was elevated on an ottoman. He looked up as she descended the stairs, and his smile froze her on the spot.
“What happened to your face?” She blurted out the question before she could think it through.
His smile turned into a laugh. “Good morning to you, Nurse Bronwyn. You might want to work on your bedside manner. A guy could get a complex from a question like that.”
She ignored him and walked closer. “Seriously, Mo.” She reached out to touch his face before she got ahold of herself and jerked her hand back. “Those weren’t there yesterday.” His cheek and jaw sported a purple-and-black bruise under his scruff. And he had the makings of a doozy of a shiner around his right eye.
“They were there. They hadn’t developed yet. Bruises don’t appear instantaneously.”
“When did y—?”
“I don’t remember the specifics. I think I ducked at one point when we were on the ground and hit my face on the pavement.” He shrugged it off. “Aunt Carol has already texted.” He looked at his watch. “We’ll see her in about an hour. I’ll have her take a look.”
“You won’t be able to stop her.” Bronwyn forced herself to step back. “They’ll get worse before they get better.” She went into the kitchen in search of coffee. “Please tell me you used Meredith’s coffee and not your own.”
