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“Next dog will be Dionne. Obviously.”
“Obviously.” He looks at me. I look back.
I’m imagining it, I know I am, but I swear I can feel the space between us vibrate.
“I got your text,” he says.
My stomach flips. “About that?—”
“Pack up.”
A white-hot blast of disbelief detonates inside me. “Whoa. Wait?—”
“Pack up whatever clothes and work stuff and shower stuff you need. You’re coming home with me.”
Oh boy. “Abel. Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“But we haven’t—there’s so much—” I shove a hand into my newly shorn, shaggy bangs. My pulse is going wild. “We can’t just dive into a fake relationship like this.”
He lifts a massive shoulder. “Isn’t that our story? That we found out Joe is sick, and then we quickly came to the realization that we needed to be together now?”
Dropping my hand, I shove the sleeves of my shirt up my arms. I’m burning up. “What am I supposed to do, throw shit in a bag and leave with you?”
“That’s exactly what you do, yes.”
“But how long will I be gone for? What about the dogs? The three of us are not low maintenance, Abel.”
“Really?” Abel fingers the girls’ matching monogrammed collars. “Never would’ve guessed. That’s why I came over. I’m here to help.”
Abel is demanding that I move in with him.It’s... a little sexy.
More than a little.
He is here to help me pack up so I canmoveinto hishouseandpretendto be hisgirlfriend. Wife. Whatever.
I don’t know whether I want to vomit or giggle.
“So—we’re actually—really doing this,” I stammer.
He nods, once. “You said you’re in, right?”
“Yeah, I did, but... wow. I didn’t expect it to happen so soon.”
“If we’re gonna jump in, we do it with both feet. Joe wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“You’re not wrong. I just feel like...” I wind my arms. “I need some more time to get it together. Get organized.”
“Get it together at my place. We can always come back if you forget something.”
Abel’s right. If I do forget one of the countless lotions and potions I need to feel human every day, it’s not like Bald Head and Wilmington are that far apart. But still, a million thoughts zip through my brain. What if the dogs destroy this new house of his I keep hearing about? What if he overhears me going to the bathroom?
Do I bring my vibrator?
“We’ve lived together before,” Abel offers.
My heart skips a beat. I’m gripped by the terrifying, electrifying memory of Abel not owning pajamas. Didn’t wear them in high school, and somehow I know he doesn’t wear them now.
