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“I swear I’m so tired I’m going to sleep until noon tomorrow,” he says, putting his head back on the seat. I grab my phone and snap a picture of him with the caption.
“My plans for the next twenty-four hours.”
I post it and put my phone away. When we get to the house, I get out first, and he follows me. When we make our way up the stairs, he goes straight to his room and shuts the door. I do the same and take a shower. I put on my dark gray jeans and big gray long-sleeved cashmere sweater. I walk out, seeing that his door is still closed, so I walk to the kitchen. I’m a little shocked when I see him standing at the fridge wearing nothing but shorts. “I thought you were going to sleep?”
He looks over his shoulder at me. “I have to eat before I hibernate for the day,” he says, grabbing some eggs and bacon. “I’m craving breakfast.”
“Brupper,” I tell him, going to the cupboard and grabbing the box of pancake mix.
“Brupper?” he asks mid-step to the counter.
“When you have breakfast for lunch, it’s called brunch, so when you have breakfast for supper, it’s called brupper,” I tell him, grabbing a bowl and a measuring cup.
“Clever,” he tells me, cracking eggs while he throws bacon in a baking dish and puts it in the oven. We work side by side as I make the pancakes and he scrambles the eggs and makes the toast. We sit next to each other at the counter. “The weather is going to be nice tomorrow. We should go for a hike.”
“A hike? I thought you were going to hibernate?” I ask him, and he just shrugs. “Where?”
“Some of the local crew told me about Yellowstone River. We can hike up and see.” He gets up and puts his plate in the dishwasher and starts to clean up the pans while I finish eating.
“Sure,” I say even though I’m not sure I even have clothes for a hike. I get up and put my dish away, and he goes back into his room. I go to my room, grab my Kindle and phone, slip on my Converse, and walk outside to the fireplace. I’ve been stuck in a trailer for most of the week with my only fresh air when going from one stage to another. I walk outside and see the orange sun in the distance setting behind the mountains.
I start the fire, and when it’s roaring, I get on the round chair in front of it, grabbing a throw blanket stored in one of the plastic chests to cover myself with. I sit with my back to the house and scroll on Instagram, seeing that the picture of Carter has gotten four million likes and two thousand comments, most from women wishing he would sleep in their bed. I roll my eyes and grab my Kindle. But instead, I stare at the flames of the fire. The heat slowly warms me, but the breeze makes me shiver now. “You are going to catch a cold sitting outside.” I hear his voice and turn around to see him wearing sweatpants, a thick long-sleeved beige turtleneck, and a beanie that just hangs on the back of his head. He gets on the round chair with me, sitting next to me. “I was looking for you everywhere,” he says softly, putting his arm around my shoulders and pulling me close to him. I don’t move and just fall into his side. My heart starts to speed up a touch, but I don’t move out of his embrace. He grabs the blanket from my lap and covers his own. Anyone coming to check on us would think we were an intimate couple.
“I thought you were going to sleep until noon tomorrow,” I remind him. My eyes focus on the fire, listening to the crackle.
“I was going to, but then I got into bed, and I tossed and turned and then just got up, and I checked around for you,” he says, and I look over at him as he watches the fire.
“I came out to get some air. I’ve been cooped up all week,” I tell him, and he grabs my Kindle.
“What were you reading?” he asks, and I almost turn the same shade as the fire when he starts to read it aloud.
“Christian Grey.” He laughs. “Didn’t you watch the movie?”
I push away from him and reach out to grab my Kindle. “I did watch the movie, and I read the books,” I admit. “I haven’t read in a while.”
The sound of his laughter fills the silent night. He grabs my shoulder again, pulling me to him. “It’s okay to admit that it turns you on.”
“Of course, you would turn this into sex,” I tell him. “This must have been the longest week of your life.”
