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I’m winning them over.
Zoey licks my face like she missed me when she was out in the backyard with Gwen for ten minutes. Mr. Brown doesn’t growl. Instead, he bumps me with his nose until I share some of the lovin’ I’m giving to Zoey with him.
I pet his head, his back.
He wiggles his stiff body. His silvery muzzle breaks into a grin.
Gwen giggles. “They sure have warmed up to you.”
“It’s like they haven’t seen me in ages.” I ruffle Zoey’s head behind her ears. “Goof. It was just ten minutes.”
“Look at her tail,” Gwen says with another one of her easy laughs.
I look down Zoey’s body to her tail. It’s swiping side to side in a big arc.
“You’re a happy girl,” I tell her. My voice lilts, sort of sing-song. I’ve never talked like this before.
I’ve never felt like this before.
This good.
Something about being in Gwen’s house with her all evening has been really good for me. Just like everything about her, this time with her has been exactly the medicine I needed.
I let myself really slow down when I was putting in the panels. Rather than a big sheet, the stuff she bought came in large squares. We had to take measurements, make templates, and cut the squares to fit the shape of the room. Then, we spread a special flooring paste with the trowel I bought. She was right by my side, smoothing panels down with me, talking in that calm, sometimes silly way she has.
We also goofed around with the dogs, ate dinner, and even took a break to sit out by a fire for a while. She found marshmallows in her cupboard, and I cut sticks for us off a sapling at the edge of her yard.
That’s another thing I’ll definitely remember when I’m an old man: sitting under the stars with her in those rickety Adirondack chairs, pulling gooey marshmallows off of the stick with my fingers.
Laughing, joking around, pointing out constellations.
The dogs loved it out there. They soak up Gwen’s energy, just like I do.
Out there, with the orange flames flickering in the stone pit, I felt satisfied to the core. Satisfied in a way I haven’t in years.
I almost told her about the gift I bought her—the overnight in the Queen’s Room, up at the Mini Windsor Castle.
But I didn’t want to ruin the moment.
Gwen doesn’t seem to be the best at receiving. She’ll give, give, give, but she clams up when I try to do nice things for her. She already gave me a hard time about hiring that mechanic. ‘He fixed so many things on my car,’ she fretted, out by the fire. ‘I can’t believe my window works now! It’s like a new car. I will pay you back for that one of these days when I get the funds.’
Of course, I shot down that idea.
I don’t want her money.
What will she do when she finds out I booked her a night in the Queen’s Room up at Windsor Castle?
I hope she won’t try to reimburse me for the expense. I’m sure she doesn’t have an extra $800 lying around for extra things like that. It’ll probably make her uncomfortable to know I got her the room. But I heard the longing in her voice when she told me about staying in it and how her grandmother wanted that for her.
Her grandmother must have been a wise woman. It would be good for Gwen to have a night for herself in that luxurious setting. I want that for her, too.
I want her to feel like a queen.
Now, as I press the lid on the container of flooring paste, I feel more of that satisfied, happy sensation buzzing through me. I glance at her, wondering if now might be the right time to tell her about the reservation. More importantly, we have to talk about us—what’s happening between us.
But when I look at her, I see she’s frowning.
Her hands are tucked into the back pockets of her jeans. She’s got a far-off look about her.
