My involuntary smile pinches my cheeks as I ask, “Isn’t this perfect?”
“So perfect,” he whispers slowly.
I look over at Malcolm, who is…staring at me?
His smile is a different one. Soft and tender. I don’t see that one very often. It’s reserved for when he goes to the woodworking show, or when he watchesSaving Private Ryan.The smile he has when he’s completely engrossed in the thing he’s taking in. Heat splotches my cheek as he clears his throat and turns toward the beach. “Absolutely perfect.”
Something about that smile sends an unfamiliar sensation zinging through me.
“So…” he says without looking at me, “what are we going to do about the bed?”
“The bed?” I cringe, the sensation fully replaced with anxiety as it ripples itself deep down into my belly. “So you’ve seen it?”
“First thing I saw, Kate. But I had a feeling you were worried about it, so I figured I’d let you have some more time to process before bringing it up.” He leans back in his chair, sprawling his long legs out in front of him and crossing his ankles. “So, what’s the plan, Stan?”
“Leaving it up to me? Gee, thanks.” I groan and pull my legs up under me on the chair.
“Of course not.” His tone is steady and comforting as he reassures me. “I just know that sometimes you see something one way and can get so riddled with anxiety about how it might affect someone else.” He shrugs casually, like the simple fact that this man truly knows me and just revealed my inner turmoil like he was recalling what he ate for breakfast this morning is just that—casual. Continuing, he adds, “And sometimes—and I mean no offense—those feelings can cloud the other possibilities. Right?”
“Maybe,” I answer reluctantly. Giving him a side eye roll, I rest my chin against my knees and let out a big sigh. Of course he’s right. I get so focused on the negative possibilities that I see right past the possible solutions. And Malcolm is usually there, patiently waiting for me to realize this.
“What has you worried?” He drums his fingers against his chest, making a light thumping noise against the solid peak of it, and I gulp. Another feature now registered in my brain for a futureepisode, I’m sure.
“We’ve never shared a bed before…” My words linger like the salt on my lips, my eyes pinned on the rise and fall of his chest.
His chest expands and deflates smoothly. “You are correct. We haven’t.”
“And I know your back will be ruined on that sofa.” I poke his chest. I can’t help it. He grabs my finger, sending goosebumps up my arm. I swat his hand away and retreat my arms back around my legs, hoping he didn’t catch what that touch did to me.Episode buffering.
“It might not—”
“Oh, don’t even,” I cut him off. “You were debilitated for a week after crashing on my couch at Christmas, and this week is too busy for us to be walking around like crippled old people.”
“Some say Iam acrippled old person.” His eyes sparkle at me as he jokes, memories of our first meeting flashing in my mind.
“Well, yes, you are,” I say pointedly. “Hence, I should consider your limitations in this decision.”
“You take the sofa, then.”
I scoff at him. “How chivalrous of you.”
“Well, what’s your plan, then?” he asks, waiting for a response. When I don’t say anything, he asks, “Do you want to share a bed with me, Katherine?” The words come out low and slow, like a kind of purr under his breath. It sounds…sensual. And I find myself suddenly fixated on his mouth. My body involuntarily reacts with a shiver.
I’m hallucinating. The salty air is shriveling my brain cells, that’s all. I have to block out images of his lips and other things that try to push their way into my mind.
A laugh escapes him when all I do is stare at him unblinkingly. “Well? Do you want to?” He wiggles his eyebrows at me.What is happening?
Panic ripples through me, and I can’t help but dodge the message his eyes are sending me. “You wish I did!” I shove his shoulder. I catch his smile falter for a moment in response. He’s just playing, Kate. That’s all this is. He’s aware you’re stressed, and he’s lightening the mood for you. That’s what Malcolm does.He’s doing what any good friend would do. No need to overthink every little thing.
“If you’re comfortable with sharing, I’d feel much better if we both got to enjoy the comfy bed. But if that’s weird, we can switch.” I force nonchalance with my words, but the thought of me sleeping on the sofa threatens to give away the fact that I am dying to see what that mountainous plush of a bed feels like against my spine.
Waves crash under us, drawing my attention back to the beach. The tiny balcony space is filled with a soothing white noise, drowning out the pestering anxious voices in my head. If I’m being honest, the thought of sharing a bed with Malcolm and waking up to seeing his face cast in sunlight every morning makes my heart do a backflip. I’m not sure why, but I can’t imagine spending this week any other way. Maybe it’s just an opportunity to enjoy a beautiful place like this with a man like him.
“Can I be honest?”
Not if it’s a rejection, I think.
I assess him. His eyes are closed with the late-afternoon sun casting a radiant halo around his hard features, softening them as he relaxes into his own thoughts. I’m slowly starting to feel at ease about this situation—and oddly, a little excited. I hold my breath and say, “Of course.”
