It wasn’t a terrible idea, actually. The physical distance it would impose between them, though …
Somehow, even when he’d been envisioning time off for her, he’d assumed he’d still see her. Every day.
He wasn’t ready to say he’d miss her. He just—wouldn’tnotmiss her. That was all.
“Custody?” He frowned at her. “I’m offended by your word choice. Nay,hurt.”
She chose to ignore that. “I’ll send him an email when we get back home.”
Speaking of home …
“Then we’re decided,” he said. “C’mon, Wren. Time for you to stop talking,finally,and let us both get some sleep.”
He got to his feet and held out his hand to help her up. Her grip was firm and warm, the contact a punch of sensation fierce enough to leave him dizzied. Once she was standing, he let go in a hurry.
In silent agreement, they began their slow trek back up the steps, with him leading the way. Because again: no more staring at her ass.
“Why does your imaginary childhood friend have a grave?” she asked after they’d reached the second set of stairs, her voice breathless.
At the sound of it, he slowed even further. “Because vowing over a grave sounds more dramatic than a simple promise.” He aimed an unrepentant grin over his shoulder. “Sue me.”
The corners of her mouth were indented. “So Captain Fluffytail is still alive?”
“Since I made up Captain Fluffytail approximately five minutes ago, yes, I’d say she’s still alive.” After a moment’s contemplation, he added, “Unless a coyote got to her already. She was very fluffy and delicious. Irresistible coyote chow, really.” He shook his head sadly. “Poor Cap. We hardly knew ye.”
That inimitable snorting laugh floated through the night, and he grinned up at the stars.
“You’re the worst,” she declared between fits of giggles.“The worst.”
It shocked him into laughter too, because Jesus. Theirony. The ironykilledhim.
“Rest assured, Wren,” he gasped. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
13
EARLY THAT SATURDAY MORNING, LAUREN ESCORTED ALEXto the airport security check-in, reminded him to behave himself as he rolled his eyes and complained about how her unwarranted lack of trust woundedhis very soul,and—after returning his final, oddly tentative wave in her direction—watched him disappear from sight.
Driving back to her duplex was … strange.
Their weeks spent almost entirely in each other’s company had connected them somehow. Tethered them together, like it or not. And with each mile she traveled away from him, that tether strained at her chest.
When his plane lifted off an hour later, safely and on time—she checked, because otherwise she’d worry—the tug became an actual ache. Which was ridiculous, obviously.
The ridiculousness of her reaction didn’t make it any less painful.
Upon hearing of Lauren’s imminent visit, Sionna had changed shifts so they could spend most of the weekend together. As soon as Lauren pulled into their detached garage and walked up to the turreted entry, her friend burst through the duplex’s right door with a tackle-hug that almost tumbled them both onto the porch floor.
“Ren!” Sionna shouted. “My favorite hag from another old bag!”
Helplessly laughing, Lauren gave the expected response. “Sionna! My shrewish sister from another mister!”
Then they were staggering into Lauren’s half of the duplex, and Sionna plopped down on the couch and eyed her friend speculatively.
“So …” Arranging herself more comfortably, she sat cross-legged. “Tell me how the best-paid babysitting job in the world is going.”
For some reason, that set Lauren’s teeth on edge. Just a little. “Alex is an adult. I’m not babysitting him.”
Damn, it was dusty in here. Also overly warm and stale. Striding to the window, Lauren heaved until it unstuck itself and opened a few inches.
