He gives his head a little shake and meets my eyes, looking perplexed. “Oh. No. It’s not that. I was trying to adjust to the fact it feels like your Funky Pops are watching me.”
I don’t correct him. In fact, I might start calling them ‘Funky Pops’ myself. “I felt like that at first too. You’ll get used to it. Unless you want me to turn them all around for the night?”
He chuckles. Actuallychuckles. He ducks his head so I can’t see his face, but the quiet, too-brief sound of his laughter has me holding my breath as my heart gives a hard thump. God, what iswrongwith me? The man laughs and my body reacts like he just offered to strip naked and rock my world.
“That won’t be necessary, thank you. And thank you again for allowing me to spend the night.”
“It’s no problem.” That bubbly feeling has returned to my sternum, except this time it’s not nerves. It’s butterflies. Or maybe it’s both. “Have a good sleep, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Willow.”
On the way to my bedroom, I veer into the kitchen to grab the bottle of wine. I’m going to need more than a glass to drown these butterflies.
