Groaning, I press the heel of my hand to my forehead. Is there any right way to answer that? “That’s not what I meant. I’m saying I’m not an animal in heat. I can control myself.”
Some of her fury cools, but she’s still clutching the pillow. “Maybe so, but I’m still not sleeping with you.” Her eyelids look even more droopy. I need to figure out a solution. Fast.
But before I can say anything, she drops the pillow at the foot of the bed, squats, and opens her suitcase on the floor. She pulls out a toiletry bag and a pair of cream-colored flannel pajamas, then storms past me toward the door.
Panic hits. “Where are you going?”
She stops with her hand on the doorknob. “I’m going to get ready for bed.”
“And where will you sleep?”
She keeps her back to me. “I guess I’ll sleep on the floor.” She opens the door, crosses the hall to the bathroom, then shuts that door behind her.
I move to the open doorway, guilt gnawing in my gut. I can’t let her sleep on the floor, but she can’t go downstairs and sleep on the sofa, either. I sit on the edge of the bed and wait for her to come back, feeling worse by the second.
She must think I’m an absolute asshole. I am, but in this instance, I’m trying not to be.
Five minutes later, she comes back in her pajamas dotted with tiny Santas. Her face is freshly washed, and her hair is pulled up into a high ponytail. She closes the door and places her back against it. “Do you have any spare blankets I can use?”
I’m still on the bed, hunched over with my elbows on my thighs. “You’re not sleeping on the floor, Finley,” I say, trying to sound reasonable. “We can share the same bed, and I swear to God I won’t come near you. We can place a mountain of pillows between us.”
Her jaw hardens. “We have a contract.”
She’s right. And we both signed it, but I didn’t expect this would become an actual problem.
“Okay,” I say in defeat. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
She shakes her head, her shoulders sinking. “No. It’s your house. Your family. Your bed. The whole point of me coming was so you could sleep in your bed. So, I’ll sleep on the floor. Trust me, I’ve slept in worse places.”
A rush of horror hits me. She didn’t elaborate on her horrible roommate situations, but I can’t imagine what’s worse than sleeping on a hardwood floor.
Did she sleep in her car?
But I can’t bring myself to ask, and I doubt she’d admit to it anyway. Finley never sounds embarrassed talking about the crap she’s been through, but there’s a quiet pride underneath it.
She picks up the pillow at the foot of the bed and tosses it on the floor.
I stand and walk to her, gently cradling her upper arm.
“Finley,” I say softly. “You’re not sleeping on the floor. It’s been a long day. You need your rest, and you won’t get it on the floor. How about this? I’ll go back downstairs for a while and then come back and sleep in the chair.” I nod to the overstuffed wingback in the corner. “Then when you get up to bake with Mom and Mal, I’ll sleep for a few hours in the bed.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but I cut her off. “Nope. It’s my house, my rules. The contract doesn’t say anything about what to do if two beds aren’t available, so as the contractor, it’s up to me to make you, the counterparty, comfortable.”
Guilt flickers across her face. I try not to think how different she is from the women I used to date. None of them would’ve batted an eye at kicking me out of the bed. Finley looks torn.
I pull back the comforter and pat the side by the window. “Come on. It’s a really soft mattress. Once you lay down, you’ll be out in five minutes.”
Her mouth tips up, and I know I’ve won her over. “Do you even know which side was yours?”
“Okay, you have me there,” I say. “But we had the same mattress, and if you want, you can play Goldilocks and figure out which one is just right.” I pat the spot again.
The corners of her mouth lift up higher. Not a full smile, but at least she doesn’t seem pissed anymore. “That’s not necessary. I’ll sleep here.” She sits on the edge of the bed, her movements small, almost uncertain.
She obviously doesn’t trust me, not that I blame her. Maybe I should find somewhere else to sleep. Maybe I can sit in Dad’s recliner and pretend I fell asleep reading a book or watching TV. “Do you want me to leave?”
Finley hesitates. “It’s just weird. We barely know each other, and it’s like you’re putting me to bed.”
Fair point. “Okay, I’ll let you get to bed.” I take a few steps toward the door.
