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“What are you doing?” I ask, sleep evident in my voice.
“There’s a leak in the roof and water was dripping on my head. My pillow’s soaked.”
“I can’t fix it tonight,” I say, still half-asleep and not thinking straight.
“I didn’t ask you to fix it. I put a bucket up there for now. It’s a slow enough leak that it should be fine until morning.”
Right.
She growls as she tries to get her blanket to lie flat.
I dig at my eyes with the heels of my hands, trying to wake myself up. Then I wrestle the sheet off me.
“I’m not letting you sleep on the ground. Take my bunk. I’ll go sleep somewhere else—”
A tree branch crashes against the windowpane. I’d be an idiot to leave this cabin right now.
“Or maybe I’ll just take the floor.”
“It’s fine,” she says, dropping down onto her thin palette and tugging her sheet up to her neck. It’s adorable, the idea that she thinks I’ll let her get away with sleeping there.
I lean down and haul her up off the ground, sheet and all.
“Ethan!” she protests, flinging her arms around my neck like she’s scared I’ll drop her.
I set her on the bottom bunk, push her toward the wall, and slide right in after her.
The bed feels tiny when I’m alone. With her, it’s microscopic. The only way we’ll both fit is if I gather her against me and envelop her in my arms, so I do. I feel better than I have all day.
Her head is nestled under my chin and her cheek is pressed against my chest. I can feel her eyelashes flutter against my skin. She’s not closing her eyes and going to sleep like I want her to.
“Taylor?” I ask, one final time. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
My heart’s breaking. Earlier today on the porch, I was worried I couldn’t continue with the way things are between us, especially having to keep our relationship a secret. Now, having her in my arms, I realize I’m willing to do just about anything to keep her. Even if that means shutting up and acting like she doesn’t exist during the day. Even if that means pretending she doesn’t mean the fucking world to me when other people are around.
She shakes her head and stays quiet. It’s obvious she has a lot on her mind, things she’s not quite prepared to say out loud.
I whisper against her ear. “Tell me in the morning?”
The wind howls outside and the thunder rumbles.
She kisses my chest but never responds.Chapter 31TaylorI wake up the next morning to the sound of hammering.
Groggily, I push myself up out of bed and stumble onto the porch, peering up to find Ethan hard at work on the roof, repairing the leak. His t-shirt is already drenched in sweat. A toolbelt hangs around his waist and he’s leaning over, slamming his hammer down onto a nail.
His brown hair needs a trim, but I secretly love the extra length. With it so disheveled, he looks like a farmhand about to drag me into a barn and have his wicked way with me.
Oh right, I’m supposed to be angry.
Why is that again?
Yesterday was a blur, one of those days where nothing goes right and everyone seems to be to blame. Max started the ball rolling then Grant made it ten times worse. Then I was annoyed with Ethan for ordering me to stay at the cabin and for not being more concerned about everyone knowing our business. It didn’t help when he all but ignored me at dinner. Yeah, yeah, I realize I didn’t give him much of a choice there, but what am I supposed to do? What happens when everyone knows about us and they all react just like Grant did?
I had every intention of picking up my anger right where I left it last night, but sleep did what sleep does, and now yesterday’s fight just doesn’t seem all that important in the light of day, not to mention I did a lot of thinking before I finally nodded off, and I managed to come to a few realizations.
Ethan finally notices I’m out here watching him, and he pauses, sitting back on his heels.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he says, sounding like he means it.
I realize with my hand up, shielding my eyes from the sun, my t-shirt’s hiked up on my thighs, all but revealing the bottom of my panties. I went to bed with my hair damp, so now it’s a wild, curly mess. I’m sure I have bags under my eyes from lack of sleep and a pillow mark on my cheek, but his appreciative gaze makes me blush.
“Still angry with me?” he asks, tilting his head.
He looks like a devilish angel up there with the sun outlining him from behind and his dimpled smirk softening his handsome features. The oxymoron never fit a soul better.
