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“Yep, just peachy,” I say,
“Getting any sleep?”
“Um, definitely,” I say, but my voice cracks a bit.
“You’re a terrible liar. Get back into bed and we’ll talk.” Carter sits up in bed, and then stands and comes over to where I am.
“No, Carter, it’s fine,” I tell him. But he gently tugs me towards the bed, where he refluffs my pillows for me and then tucks me in.
“If you’re up then so am I, Angel,” he says. “That’s how this goes.”
My heart squeezes at that. I’m reminded of all the guys I dated in college and how easily they used to fall asleep next to me. I’d always end up feeling so alienated from them, as they slept soundly and I tossed and turned, wracked by anxiety next to them. Just once, I wanted one of them to wake up and askme if everything was okay. They never did. After college, I drew a line in the sand: no more sleepovers. But of course that hasn’t mattered over the last two celibate, nun-like years.
So Carter wanting to stay up with me does something criminal to my insides: it turns them into gooey, melted chocolate.
“Thanks,” I say quietly. “What should we talk about?”
He sits next to me on the bed on top of the covers, and something about his presence there, close enough to touch, makes me feellessanxious about sleeping, not more.
“Tell me about painting,” he says. “What do you like to paint?”
“Liked,” I correct. “I haven’t done it in years.” I pause, and consider his question. “If I was going to paint something right now, I’d paint this town. And then I’d paint the cabin we were in.”
“Why?” he asks, his voice soft in the darkness.
“Because it was beautiful there, and it’s beautiful here.” I take a deep breath in and let it out slowly. “And I want to remember it,” I admit.
“I want to remember it, too,” Carter says. “Tell me about what else you’d paint.”
And so I do, describing the places in Harborview I want to capture with brushstrokes, the beaches and coves, mountains and trees and valleys, that I want to try my best to depict. Carter tells me more about his research, too, and after a long while, we both fall asleep.
Carter’s alarmgoes off at 6:00 a.m.
“Noooo,” I groan at the same time as a strangled cry leaves his throat.
It sounds like he’s right next to me, instead of on the couch where he?—
Oh.
Right.
We both slept in this bed last night—which explains why he’s right beside me. At some point he must have gotten under the covers in the night, because there’s nothing but my tank top between us. He puts an arm around me and pulls me against his bare chest. I have to stop myself from sighing contentedly, and then I have to stop myself from groaning because I can feel the hard length of him pressed against my ass, and fuck does it feel good.
On instinct, I shift back against him, and he nuzzles my neck, his beard scratching against my skin.
Fuck.
“Coffee,” I manage to croak, needing an excuse to get out of bed and away from temptation.
“What?” Carter asks, sounding completely confused. And, I have to admit, completely adorable.
“Gotta make coffee,” I say.
I haul myself out of bed and stumble over to the kitchen. I am pretty uncoordinated when I’m tired and before I’ve had caffeine.
Margery has really pulled out all the stops for this vacation rental, and she has a filter coffee machine, and an instant espresso machine. I grab an espresso cup, flip the machine on, fill it with water, and stare it down while it heats up.
After a minute, I have a steaming cup with three shots of espresso in it. I practically inhale it, and set up the filter coffee machine to brew. I saw a travel mug in the cabinet and figure I’ll need something for the boat as well. I make Carter a cup oftea because I noticed in the cabin that tea is all he drinks in the morning.
