Later, after ice cream and a surprisingly easy conversation about everything except business and babies, Wren's energy crashes abruptly. One minute she's animated, telling me about a disastrous brewery tour she took in Belgium; the next, she's struggling to keep her eyes open.
"Hey." I nudge her foot with mine where we're sitting on opposite ends of the couch. "You should get some sleep. You look ready to pass out."
"Mmm?" She blinks slowly, like she's coming back from somewhere far away. "Sorry. It’s a pregnancy thing. The sleepiness hits like a truck sometimes."
"No apologies needed." I stand, offering her a hand up. "Come on. Let me show you how to work the shower. The hot water knob's a little tricky."
She takes my hand, letting me pull her to her feet. Just like every other time, the feel of her smaller hand in mine sends an electric current up my arm. For a second, we're standing too close, her face tilted up to mine, her gray eyes dark in the dim living room lighting.
All I’d have to do is tilt my chin down a little more, and we’d be?—
I drop her hand like I've been burned. "Right. Shower."
In the bathroom, I show her the counterintuitive way the shower knobs work—cold is actually on the right, despite the label—while Wren watches, arms crossed over her chest. She looks small and tired in her oversized sweater, vulnerable in a way she never lets herself be at work.
She also looks soft and sleepy, and I want to take her to bed and not to fuck.
What the hell isthat?
"Got it?" I ask, shutting off the water.
She nods. "Think so. Left for hot, right for cold, middle lever for pressure."
"Exactly. Towels are in that cabinet. I put some of those... I don't know, bath bomb things? In there, too. Reed suggested them. Said they might help with relaxation."
Her eyebrows shoot up. "You bought me bath bombs?"
"Reed said?—"
"I heard what you said." A small smile plays at the corners of her mouth. "That was thoughtful. Thank you."
The sincerity in her voice makes my chest squeeze and I tuck my hands into my pockets, immediately finding the wedding ring in my left one. "It’s not a big deal."
I step back, giving her space. "I'm usually up around six, but I'll try to be quiet. Sleep as long as you need."
She nods, suddenly looking uncertain. "This is weird, right?"
"Definitely weird," I agree. "But maybe not terrible?"
"Maybe not."
"Good night, Pink."
"Night, Beanie Boy."
Back in my room, I lie awake for hours, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of another person moving through my house—the shower running, the soft pad of bare feet down the hallway, the quiet click of her bedroom door closing. The knowledge that she's sleeping just down the hall, in sheets I chose, in a room I prepared, does something to me I'm not ready to face.
Fuck.
Banks is right. I like her. Not just because she's carrying my child, though that connection between us is undeniable. I like her sharpness, her ambition, and the way she never backs down. I like the softer side I'm just beginning to glimpse beneath her professional armor.
I'm so fucked.
Rolling onto my side, I stare at the wall that separates my room from hers. I promised her boundaries. Promised I wouldn't touch her.
But lying here in the dark, with her scent lingering in my house and the memory of her smile fresh in my mind, I know those promises are going to be hard as fuck to keep.
For now, though, I'll try. Because it’s what she wants.
