I flip on the bathroom light switch and yelp. A shirtless Edward stands by the sink brushing his teeth. It’s too much, I flip the lights off. I immediately realize that turning them off was a crazy thing to do. So I flip them back on.
“Elinor!” He laughs. “What are you doing?”
“Turning the lights on. Like a normal person. What are you doing in the dark?”
“Brushing my teeth. There’s plenty of light with the moon. Here.” He reaches over me and flips the switch back off. “See,” he points to the moon perfectly framed in the porthole window above the mirror. He’s right. In fact, it’s the perfect mood lighting. Or at least it’s very flattering on him, casting a silvery sheen on his face and chest as he occupies the tight space between me and the pedestal sink. I avert my eyes from his bare torso, but I see enough to be uncomfortably attracted to him. My instinct is to run out of the room. But I’ve already made a fool of myself flipping on and off the bathroom lights.
“I’ll be finished in a minute,” he says casually flossing his teeth, “but we might as well share the sink.” He steps aside and waves me over. It feels rude to leave, but also weird to stay. I stand there for a minute watching the muscles in his back as he brushes his teeth.
I’m overthinking this. I grab my toothbrush and toothpaste.
“Sorry about my mom and sister,” I begin, “and all their teasing. They’re not always this obnoxious.”
“I don’t mind,” he says as he flosses. “I like them.”
“I mind,” I reply, and to prevent him from asking me any follow-up questions, I vigorously brush my teeth. There’s something so domestic and companionable about brushing my teeth next to Edward. Yet somehow, it’s a lot more exciting thandental hygiene ever should be.
He returns his floss to a leather toiletry bag from which he pulls out a washcloth and a small glass cannister. I keep brushing my already brushed teeth and watching him in the mirror, completely fascinated by his skin care routine.
“Do you do that every night?” I ask as he opens the jar and puts the cream on his finger. He dabs it deftly under his eyes.
“Most nights. It’s very soothing. Want to try?” He motions with his index finger with a daub of the lotion toward my face.
I nod. He steps closer as I raise my face to his hand. At his touch I go still. Time slows as he rubs the ointment beneath my eyes. The cool lotion is bliss. His gentle strokes on my sensitive skin feel strange but wonderful. The gesture is far more intimate than I anticipated.
Edward looks straight into my eyes. I can’t look away. His eyelashes are darker than I realized and surprisingly long. In the moonlight, his gray eyes are a kaleidoscope of silver. I’m drawn in by the same primal pull that makes people stare at the horizon.
I’ve been staring too long, but I cannot stop—and apparently neither can he. Technically, all we’re doing is looking at each other as he puts eye cream on my face, but it feels very, very dangerous.
When he takes his hand back, the spell breaks. Clearing my throat, I edge away.
“I didn’t expect you to have a more extensive skincare routine than I do,” I blurt out, hoping to cover my flustered feelings.
Edward doesn’t answer. He’s busy putting away the bottle and rubbing some other lotion on his face. When he finally speaks, his tone is warm and friendly.
“You should have guessed as much. I’m the only child of a very vain woman. Since my first pimple appeared, my mom hasbeen obsessed with my skincare routine. Every night we washed our faces together. Skincare and shopping are how we bond. She’d be horrified if she knew that I haven’t exfoliated in days.”
“I don’t think I’ve exfoliated in my life.”
“Seriously? That surprises me. You have really nice skin.”
My mom and sister like to joke that I have no heart. But I do. And it’s beating riotously after shirtless Edward’s off-hand comment about my “really nice” skin.
Finished, he picks up his bag of toiletries. “See you in the morning?”
“Uh huh,” I half answer, struggling to sort my thoughts.
“Good night, Elinor.” He leans against the door jamb with this darling half-smile that makes me suspect he’s perfectly aware of his affect on me.
“Goodnight, Mr. Frechette.”
But it is not a good night. Not at all. That littletête-à-têtein the bathroom has left me rattled. What on earth was I doing, staring into his eyes like that?
I don’t flirt or fall in love. That’s my sister’s game. I’m the reasonable one—the one who keeps the family afloat. So what if I’m attracted to Edward Frechette? With seven billion people in the world, I was bound to come across someone who unsettled me like this. It’s statistics and biology, and if it weren’t so irritating I’d find my attraction to him fascinating.
I toss and turn in my bed. Sleep is impossible. I can’t stop thinking about Edward and seeing him in the morning. I wish I hadn’t agreed to go running with him. What was I thinking? I’ve already committed to a dangerous amount of time with breakfast and the tour. It was insanity to add the run. Though thankfully there won’t be any blasted moonlight.
I try counting Edward’s faults like counting sheep. The problem is I don’t know his faults—yet. I’m certain he has plenty. Everyone does. But so far, every new thing I learn abouthim I like. The way he responded to my tears—check. His dry sense of humor—check. The way he got along with mom and Annie—check. Maybe he has bad breath? No such luck. I distinctly recall his sharp minty breath as he rubbed his thumb beneath my eyes.
