“Better take care of that,” Sloane says seriously, and we both laugh. This feels weirdly good. Like we’re on a team together or something. “We’d better get you to bed.”
I know she doesn’t mean it like that, but the thought of bed involving any element ofwesends my mind somewhere it shouldn’t go.
The slight blush on her cheek tells me she noted the slip too.
We say a slightly awkward goodnight, and long after I hear the door to the office click shut, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, Marshall at the foot of the bed.
Just a couple of guys, under the spell of a woman who washed ashore.
Chapter 5
SLOANE
Aside from a couple of brief wake-ups when thunder sounds outside of the cottage, I sleep like the dead, and it takes me a moment to orient myself when my eyes flutter open in the morning and the small alarm clock on the side table beeps lightly.
The office is filled with a light airy glow, and when I see the framed poster of a topographic ocean depth map above the desk on the other side of the room, I remember where I am. The clock says seven-thirty. I could have slept until noon.
The sound of a coffee machine sputtering travels from the kitchen. Ryan’s up. Soon we’ll be getting in his truck and driving hours together to Seattle. The thought of being in close quarters with him for that long makes me…not nervous. It makes me…what? I investigate the feeling in my stomach. Anxious? Disappointed to be leaving? Turned on?
I think about when I’d touched his arm on the beach. I hadn’t intended on it, but I can’t wipe the feeling away, the crook between his bicep and forearm, steady and strong. I lay back in bed, for a moment indulging in the thought of those arms around me.
Then I remember why I’m here. It feels like a forbidden daydream. I’m supposed to be married to another man. I washours away from using some fancy fountain pen to scrawl my name across the marriage certificate, committing my intent to make it work. To be grateful.
Ryan gave me another pair of pants and a crewneck sweatshirt last night to wear today. They’re laughably large on me, so I’m happy not to have to swim in these on public transportation. I’ll have to figure out a way to get them back to him.
I dress and make the bed, then spend a few minutes in the bathroom putting myself together as well as possible without access to my usual creams and makeup. It’s freeing, simply running a borrowed comb through my hair, brushing my teeth, and washing my face with Ryan’s drugstore body wash. This stripped-down routine is an indulgence that feels almost like a transgression.
When I enter the kitchen, Ryan’s tipping a pan of scrambled eggs into a bowl, which he puts on the table, where a plate of crispy bacon, a jug of orange juice, and a pile of toast are waiting. It’s a little bit strangely arranged, like a kid making a mother’s day brunch, but it warms me that he’s gotten up early to feed me. And the prospect of bacon makes my stomach rumble.
“Hey,” he says, a light grin tugging on the corners of his mouth. His hair’s a little mussed up and his eyes are sleepy, and for a moment I imagine waking up next to him. All of a sudden this is feeling very domestic but very enticing.
In a few hours, however, we’ll be saying goodbye and I’ll be back in my condo, trying to pick up the pieces of the life I shattered in a highly spectacular and very public way.
“Hey,” I say. “This looks great.”
“Coffee?” he asks.
“Please,” I say. “Can I do anything?”
“Have a seat,” he says, nodding to the table.
I sit down, and within seconds, Marshall’s head is on my lap. “Not sure if you heard him whining at my bedroom door in the night,” Ryan said. “He wanted to come visit you.”
“I wouldn’t have minded,” I say, scratching the spot behind his ears. His wagging tail threatens to collapse the table leg it’s beating against.
“Guess he can sense that you’re a would-be dog owner. Here, help yourself,” Ryan says, passing me a mug of coffee and a plate, then taking the spot across from me.
I spoon some eggs and spear some bacon onto my plate, and glance out the window. “It looks like it never rained,” I say. There’s fog, but the sun’s already threatening to poke through.
“It was another bad one,” Ryan said. “Went on for a few hours.”
“I slept through most of it,” I admit, then take a bite of bacon. Why I’ve deprived myself of this for so long, I can’t understand. It’s only been a couple of days and already that side of myself feels as foreign as another language.
When I look up, Ryan’s watching me, curiosity and amusement in his eyes.
“Delicious,” I say.
“We can make a stop halfway if you get hungry again,” he says. “But I thought we’d better eat before the drive.”
