“I apologize. I got carried away. I’m sure you could sleep on a bed of nails and wake up rested.”
“Take the bed, Gus,” he said loud enough that we both glanced self-consciously at the couch for a moment to make sure Lucy was still out cold.
I crossed my arms. “Retta rules are in play, buddy. It’s you or it’s no one and we suffer together.”
He scowled at that, but after a moment of staring me down, he sighed. “We’ll suffer together then. We’re both mature adults here. We can share the bed,” he finished grimly.
Those five simple words blew the rules and all my arguments out the window. I mean, come on. How often was a person presented with this scenario in real life? With someone they were actually attracted to?
“Fine,” I said, a little too quickly, forcing me to follow up with an, “If we have to.”
I’d not only read scenes like this in romances, I’d also written them. The only-one-bed scenario crossed all genres and was where the real magic happened. In one of my books, the bed was in an abandoned cottage, warded by spells to hide them from the enemies hunting my heroine. It worked like a charm forthatfictional couple.
For the two of us, on the other hand? Not so much.
First, Wade left the bedroom door open. Because apparently cool air was infinitely preferable to privacy which…I couldn’t argue with, no matter how much I wanted to. After we took turns in the bathroom with an electric lantern and that door firmly closed, we settled onto the world’s smallest queen-size mattress so gingerly you’d think it was rigged with explosives.
Wade kept one foot on the floor like a man in a 50s sitcom, while I clung to my side of the bed, trying to ignore the furnace levels of heat his body was radiating and the faint scent of chlorine on skin that brought up memories of our watery embrace.
We lay there fully clothed, fully awake—and, in my case, full of pent-up sexual desire, frayed nerves and unanswered questions—listening to a chorus of canine and human snoring for what felt like hours.
When I couldn’t take the fraught silence anymore, I whispered, “This bed is too small for me and way too hard. How do you stand it?”
“Biofreeze patches and Advil.”
I smiled before I realized… “You’re not joking?”
“I planned to haggle for the nice king-size mattress I have in storage for next month’s lease agreement.”
“You have a bed in storage? Good lord, Wade, bring it over. You can put this one in the garage for now.” Or maybe we’d burn it. That’s how uncomfortable it was.
He hesitated before saying, “Are you sure? I didn’t want to ask you to change anything.”
I understood why, and I was grateful. “It won’t be a problem. I’ve been feeling guilty about it all week, and now I know exactly why. Knowing you were comfortable would be a favor to me.”
“Thanks.” Less than a minute later, he spoke again. “On the subject of favors, how comfortable areyouwith bookkeeping software?”
This could only happen to me.
A gorgeous man pressed up against me was saying, “Let’s share a bed after sort-of making out in the pool. And while we’re there, what are your thoughts onbookkeeping?”
Who said the male of the species wasn’t completely confusing? Because those people were liars.
I shifted onto my side, facing him in the dark. “Comfortable enough, I guess. It was years ago, but my last job before my first book sold was office manager for a chiropractor. I did his books. And Gene set me up with new software a few years ago to keep track of my own finances.” Which was how I knew exactly how precarious my savings situation had become. “Why?”
“I thought I remembered something about that. It occurred tome that we might be able to help each other out again. You have a list of home improvements to check off so the house can be ready to put on the market, if that’s what you decide to do. Your insurance is going to be starting you off by replacing the roof. I can help you with the rest.”
Before I could argue, he continued. “What’s givingmea headache is all the things Phoebe usually takes care of for the garage, icehouse and studio. I’m no good with the software, and honestly, I just don’t have the time with everything on my plate. I need someone else to handle the time-sensitive stuff until she can come back to the office. You’d be doing her a favor too. I wouldn’t want her returning to the mess I’m already making.”
It sounded simple enough when he explained it. Payroll, which was done electronically. Accounts payable, which was mostly done electronically, with checks going out to a few stone-age vendors. Invoicing, which was minimal because most customers paid in full at the time service was rendered. I’d done all that and more at my old job, though like I said, it had been a while.
The hardest part would be going into the icehouse, where Phoebe kept her office. Hermitting season would officially be over. I would have to interact with people. Wear shoes. Remember how to be human.
The rest of it was doable. It bent the Retta rules but didn’t break them, because he’d be helping me with something that felt overwhelming whenever I thought about it, and I’d be helping him and my godchild to get through a short but stressful time period.
I might be suspicious about his motivations, coming on the heels of the night’s big reveal—that he actuallywasinto me. But I could do this. More than that, Iwantedto do it. It had the distinct feeling of being useful, something I hadn’t felt in a very long time.
“Say yes, Gus. No one will bother you. Phoebe’s office is in the back and the place doesn’t usually get busy until well after lunchtime.”
