“You don’t want to sleep in bed with me?” Florian asks.
I swallow hard.
The prospect of getting into bed with a tall, attractive German hockey player isn’t unappealing.
But future Florian will remember that I’m not a man he wanted to sleep side-by-side with. Future Florian will hate me so much.
Past Florian also hated me. This memory loss will be a temporary interlude in the hatred Florian has for me.
I think again of the manifestation book that my sister gave me. This is so the universe’s fault.
“I don’t want to accidentally injure you in bed,” I say finally.
Florian’s eyes soften.
So the thing is, I do work out. In my business, strength is a benefit. I know the terrified look that somesmaller massage therapists get when larger clients show up, and hockey players are often very large.
Still, there is no world in which I’ll be a threat to Florian. The man is a 6’4 defenseman at the start of the season with freshly formed protective body fat.
“I roll around a lot,” I say. “I’m incredibly violent.”
He presses his lips together. I’m amusing him.
“That is not your fault,” he says. “That means you have an active life in your dreams.”
“Yes.” I nod multiple times. “I’m totally a medieval warrior in my dreams. Always marching and fighting and thinking everyone around me has on protective layers of shiny armor.”
“Well, I’m not going to put on a suit of shiny armor,” Florian says. “Though I do have a hockey helmet.”
I laugh.
“How about we build a pillow wall?” he suggests. “And then any bedtime impulses to tackle me will be thwarted.”
Florian exits the bedroom. I follow after him. He dismantles every pillow on the couch. He carries them to the bed and builds a careful wall in the middle of the bed.
It is very thoughtful of him.
And hopefully future, memory-restored Florian will be less furious when he discovers we shared a bed with a pillow wall down the middle.
I go to the bag that my sister packed and look for my pajamas.
And they’re…
Well, they’re not what I normally wear to bed.
The pajamas have huge hearts on them. Pink and red. Some of them sparkle.
I’ve never seen the pajamas before in my life, but there is nothing else for me to wear.
I rush to the bathroom with my toiletry bag. Everything ischocolate scented, not my normal and far more sophisticated or at least normal vanilla scent of choice.
After I’m freshly washed with chocolate scented hair and a chocolate scented body and a chocolate scented face, I crawl into bed. Florian gazes at me happily.
“Hearts!” he murmurs.
“I know it’s a lot.”
“It is very romantic,” Florian says, his voice solemn.
