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“Sorry, it’s so much colder back here,” I said. “But once you get in the covers, you’ll warm right up.”
Or, I could join her. Maybe sharing the bed wasn’t such a bad idea after all. The two of us spooning together beneath the blankets would heat things up quick.
The thought of Grace’s body cradled against mine held a little too much appeal. I ignored the way it fired through my body like gasoline through an engine’s chain of pistons. She’d be just fine in here. It took only a few minutes for my body heat to warm things up on my own.
I gestured to the bed’s unpolished log frame and patted the two patchwork quilts atop it. The bed was nicely made—that was my thing since I was a kid.
“You make your bed even when you’re not expecting company?” she asked.
“My mom always insisted,” I said with a shrug and a shiver. “It’s become a habit.”
“Tell me something,” Grace said as she inhaled another breath through her teeth. “You said you grew up here, but that room back at the inn had looked more like yours than this does.”
Her confusion made sense. While that room had traces of me all over it, I’d kept things minimal here on purpose. Aside from a few cowboy hats hanging on the wall, nothing in here really spoke of my personality or interests.
I grimaced.
“Oh, I guess for me, saying I grew up here means here on the property. I didn’t grow up in this cottage. I lived at the inn. They added on the spa and more rooms when I’d been in high school.”
“Was it an inn then, too?”
“It was,” I said. “That was another reason Mom insisted the beds be made. She was in charge of room service and preparing the bedding—and then she passed that job on to Junie before she died. I helped my dad fix things and spent most of my time in the barn or romping through the hills outside.”
“Why does that not surprise me?”
Though her voice sounded bemused, the juddering in her jaw was back.
“You know, back in the day, my great-grandparents raised eight kids in this place.” My voice was quiet in the stillness. Wind whipped against the windowpanes—another reason this room was so freezing cold.
“Eight? Where did they all sleep?”
She had a point. She and I could hardly stand in here without colliding. It was hard to imagine eight people in this room.
“Together,” I said, gesturing to the bed.
An awkward pause built between us.
I cleared my throat. “I’ll just?—”
“Oh, right.” Grace moved toward the bed, presumably in an attempt to leave space for me to reach the door.
The only problem was, I moved in the same direction at the same time.
We collided.
Her body brushed against mine, and it took every ounce of strength I possessed not to wrap my arms around her and keep her there. Her balance teetered. My hand came up around her—and I quickly jerked it back.
If I allowed myself to linger, to hold her, I’d lose it like I nearly did when I brushed my fingers on her lips. I’d pin her to the bed and kiss her senseless—and I couldn’t risk that.
“Sorry,” she said.
“Me, too. I was just getting a blanket.”
She ducked back, knocking into the dresser and wincing. “Oh, right. You need one of those.”
“Yeah.” I dipped my head and bent beneath the bed, shining the flashlight on the tote Junie had gotten for me. After some maneuvering, I retrieved the thick quilt under my arm and placed the flashlight on the bed.
It shot its beam toward the bookshelf near the window.
