“Sounds like solid advice.”
“It is, until you meet someone who doesn’t fit neatly into either category.” She looks at me, really looks at me, and something in her gaze makes my chest ache. “You’re not a good guy, Menlow. But you’re not a bad guy either. You’re just… you. And I’m starting to think that’s enough.”
I don’t know what to say to that. So I do the only thing that makes sense.
I kiss her.
She makes a soft sound of surprise, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she leans into me, her hands finding my shoulders, her mouth opening under mine. I cup the back of her head with one hand and pull her closer with the other, deepening the kiss until we’re both breathless.
When I finally break away, my voice comes out rough. “I need more than kisses to feel better.”
She laughs. Actually laughs, full and bright and completely unexpected. The sound catches me off guard and makes something warm bloom in my chest.
“You’re exhausted,” she points out. “You’ve barely slept in three days. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re running on fumes and stubbornness.” She pushes gently at my chest. “You need to rest.”
“I’d rather—”
“I know what you’d rather. But not tonight.” She stands up and holds out her hand. “Come on. Bed. Sleep. Doctor’s orders.”
“You’re not a doctor.”
“I’m the closest thing you’ve got right now.” She wiggles her fingers impatiently. “Let’s go.”
I stare at her outstretched hand. At the smile playing at the corners of her mouth. At the woman who, just three days ago, looked at me like I was a monster.
“You laughed,” I observe.
She blinks. “What?”
“Just now. You laughed.” I stand up, moving closer to her. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh like that before. Not around me.”
“I’ve laughed around you.”
“Not like that. Not… openly.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “It suits you.”
She ducks her head, suddenly shy. “Go to bed, Menlow.”
“Make me.”
“I’m not going to—” She stops, narrows her eyes at me. “You’re trying to make me laugh again.”
“Is it working?”
“No.”
But her lips twitch, and I can see her fighting a smile.
“Come on,” I press. “One more laugh. Just a small one.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’ve been called worse.” I lean in conspiratorially. “Did I ever tell you about the time Pavel tried to cook dinner for everyone and nearly burned down the kitchen?”
“No.”
