Page 10 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

“Huge bed,” he said. “It’s easy to make sure you have plenty of your own space.”

I chuckled nervously.

“It looks comfortable,” I said.

“Crawl up on there,” Peter said jovially. “Test it out.”

I cocked my head to the side and grinned at him.

“Really,” he said. “Kick your shoes off and get comfortable.”

With a shrug, and knowing that it would do no harm, I put the toe of my left shoe against my right heel and extracted my foot from my shoe. Then I repeated the motion for my other shoe. Gently, I crawled onto Peter’s bed and rolled over onto my back to stare up at the ceiling. I wished that I could have taken my outside clothes off, so as to ensure Peter’s bedding stayed clean, but also for comfort. However, lying in front of Peter in my underwear in broad daylight would have finished me off. My anxiety would have made my head explode.

Peter was right. Again. The pillow cradled my head and the bed felt like a cloud. I could have easily stretched out my arms and legs and not touched both sides of the massive bed. Though it still made my stomach flutter, thinking of sharing a bed with Peter, experiencing the actual size of the bed eased my nerves. If I had difficulty sharing such an intimate space, it would be easy to put distance between us.

“How do you get out of bed each day?” I asked. “This is heavenly.”

“Someone’s gotta go to work and pay the bills,” he said. “And no one else around here pulls their weight.”

I laughed and Peter joined me. After a few moments, our laughter died off, and a comfortable silence filled the room as I lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

“What is it like?” I asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“Living in this giant home all by yourself,” I explained.

The question was rude. If I’d asked it of anyone else. Peter was different. I knew he’d understand and not be offended.

“Lonely,” he said. “Often lonely. Hollow. I swear that every noise is an echo some days. In fact, I think the echo sometimes whispers ‘lonely’ at me.”

I nodded along slowly. When I didn’t respond, though I had deeply connected with Peter’s explanation, he spoke again.

“Do you want to take a nap?” Peter asked. “I know you’ve had a long day already.”

Somehow, I managed to shrug, though my eyes were indeed heavy. Between the anxiety I’d had to fight during my journey to the U.S., the heavy, though delicious, food from lunch, and the luxury of Peter’s bed, sleep sounded wonderful.

Peter chuckled. “Take a nap. You need to be rested for dinner.”

An appreciative moan emanated from my throat.

“Dinner,” I mumbled as my eyes began to droop.

“I’ll be downstairs if you wake up,” Peter said softly and began to tiptoe across the room.

“Peter?” I stopped him, lifting my head.

“Yeah?” He turned to me with a soft smile at the door.

Chewing at my lip, I wasn’t completely certain my thoughts would be welcome, but I was certain I wanted to share them.

“I love your house,” I said. “The den is my favorite room.”

Peter’s smile grew.

“It’s very nice,” I said.

“Thank you.”