When the fire catches, throwing dancing orange light around the walls, I ease back on the rug, forcing a slow, steady breath out of my chest.
In.
Out.
Annabelle glances over, reading me in that freakishly perceptive way of hers. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah.” I nod, pride tasting a bit like ash on my tongue. “Better.”
She settles in next to me, tucking her legs under herself, shoulder brushing mine. “What a relief. ’Cause if the serial killer breaks in, I’m going to need you at full strength. I can’t save us both.”
As if I would let her defend us from a killer. But cute that she thinks I’m such a mess she would need to.
We take seats on the couch, Annabelle curling up, and the soft glow from the candles she found glows in the room along with the fireplace. They flicker, casting shadows onto the wood walls.
Cozy as fuck.
She tucks her hand under her chin, leaning against the back of the couch to study my face. “Tell me something—a confession. Since we’re trapped inside, we might as well spill secrets before the murderer gets us.”
I huff out a laugh, relaxing into the worn cushions. “You want a confession? Hmm.”
She nods, eyes bright, playful but somehow gentle at the same time.
“Well, you already know I hate storms—always have, for no particular reason,” I admit. “But I’m also not a fan of the dark.” Don’t love it. “Your turn.” I nudge her knee with my foot.
She grins, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Funny you should mention the dark. I used to sleep with a night-light until I was twelve, which is probably why I couldn’t sleep last night.”
Ha. “So we’re in agreement—we should leave all the lights on.”
“Except the power kind of screwed us on that.”
True, at least for the time being.
“So,” she says, twisting to face me a little more, “since we’re trading secrets—what about relationships? You ever been close to getting married?”
The question surprises me, but she says it so casually I get the feeling she’s not fishing for personal reasons. At least, I don’t think so.
“Nah,” I answer honestly. “Football has always been in the way.” No time, not enough inclination. Never dated anyone I wanted to lock in and commit to for the rest of my life.
She nods, like she gets it. “Makes sense. Hard to build on something serious when you’re always on the move or busy doing”—she waves a hand airily—“athletic stuff.”
I laugh at her description of my job, shifting on the couch, stretching my arm along the back, letting my hand dangle dangerously close to her shoulder. “What about you?”
She bites her lip, looking sheepish. “I’ll tell you, but you can’t laugh.”
“I won’t,” I promise. “I mean—I’lltry.” No promises.
She draws in a breath. “The guy I was seeing is the mayor’s son.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “The mayor’sson?”
“Yes.” She groans, hiding her face in her hands. “Tim is the mayor’s son.”
I have a shit-eating grin on my face. “Like,themayor?”
She peeks through her fingers, glaring at me. “Yes, stop repeating it!”
“You’re the one repeating it!”
