“I’ll combust again eventually. It seems only fair to plan ahead.”
There’s something about the way he says it, casual and factual, that pulls a chuckle from me. “When that happens, and if you really want a party for it, I’ll make sure that he is on the guest list.”
That seems to satisfy him, his lips lifting into a small smile, and for a moment, he doesn’t look so ancient.
I lock the front door, check the windows twice, and turn off the chandelier that cost me an entire afternoon, and one mildly concerning electrical shock, to clean and rehang. Thehouse settles around us as the lights go out, wood creaking like it’s stretching tight muscles after a long day of hard work.
Ember trails behind me with a faraway look in his eyes. I glance back at him as he climbs the stairs, each step taken with the seriousness of a man scaling a mountain.
A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. “When do you think you’ll get your next growth spurt?”
“Soon, I hope,” he mutters, hauling himself up another step. “I despise being this small. It is undignified for a being as old as myself.”
“Mmm. Tragic.”
By the time he finally makes it upstairs, I’m already through shutting everything off for the night. Jacket off and hung neatly in the closet, shoes lined up, and shirt and pants into the laundry basket.
“Where am I sleeping?” he asks, standing in the middle of the bedroom and looking around expectantly.
He fell asleep early the last couple of nights, passed out, and snoring on the couch by the time I finished getting downstairs prepared for today.
“Exactly where you slept last night,” I answer without hesitation.
He glances toward the living room where the couch is located, then back at me. “I think not,” he says, his upper lip curling as if I suggested he bed down in the backyard with the trash pandas. “I will not be sleepingtheretonight.”
“Where else would you sleep?” I ask, already tired of this conversation.
He doesn’t answer, instead walking past me, straight to my bed. He places a tiny hand on the comforter, acting like he’s just now discovering the bed exists.
“This will do,” he says, proud of himself.
“No, it won’t. That’s my bed, you tiny menace.”
“But I want to sleep here,” he says with a straight face.
“What’s wrong with the couch? You’ve slept there fine before.”
“The cushions are flat, and my back hurts,” he pouts. “Plus, I’m ancient, and I say I sleep in the bed.”
“Over my dead body,” I growl.
I may have let him move in without a fight. I may have accepted my role as his personal chef, babysitter, and unwilling employer, but this? This is where I draw the line. It’s my freaking bed. In my freaking house. It’s been a long day, and all I want is to dive under my covers and turn off my brain. Is that too much to ask?
I deserve it.
He can take his ancient, dramatic, fire hazard ass to the couch. He’s going to have to deal with being a little uncomfortable because I refuse to give in on this.
Chapter Six
Sunshine
Something’s not right.
I smell coffee. Fresh, strong,realcoffee. Not the sad, reheated, barely-alive version I usually stumble into making for myself.
I crack an eye open and regret it immediately.
I’m on the fucking couch, and my spine feels like I slept folded in half sideways. My neck is stiff. My arm is asleep, and there’s a chance it’ll never wake up again. I’m fairly certain there is now a permanent imprint of my body in these cushions. If I died here, they should just take the couch out back and burn me along with it.
