They spend the evening reminiscing and laughing. It’s fun seeing Ayla with her people, how relaxed she is and how loveable she is. She talks to everyone, asking interested questions about their lives, listening intently to their responses. She doesn’t say much about herself. That’s always been her way.
Eventually, our guests call it a night, Rachel the last one to leave. She keeps making weird faces at Ayla and Ayla frowns at her and I have no idea what’s going on. “Is there something you want to say, Rach?” I finally ask.
She swivels her head around to face me. “Uh. No. Why? Well. Maybe?—”
“No, there isn’t,” Ayla interjects. “Time to go, Rach. See you in the morning. You’re still going to help decorate, right?” As she talks, she nudges Rachel toward the door.
“Of course I’m going to help.” At the door, she pauses and whispers to Ayla, which I can’t hear.
“I’m fine,” Ayla says, pushing her cousin out onto the veranda. “Night!” She closes the door.
“What was that about?”
“Nothing. She’s just… nothing.”
I lift a skeptical eyebrow, but busy myself putting glasses into the dishwasher and bottles into the recycling bin. “Okay.”
Ayla disappears into the bathroom with her pajamas. I finish cleaning up by the time she returns, make-up washed from her face, making her look vulnerable, wearing those sexy pants and top. “Tonight, I’m taking the couch,” she says firmly.
I want to argue with her. But after waking up with her ass all snuggled into my erection, maybe it is better to sleep separately.
My dick remains unconvinced.
I turn out the lights, use the bathroom, and pause beside the couch in my boxer briefs. Ayla is burrowed into a blanket. Maybe asleep?
She should have the bed.
“Hey,” I whisper. “You awake?”
Nothing.
Okay. Too late. I climb into bed, turn off the lamp and lay on my back. I close my eyes, but I’m stubbornly wide awake.
“Do you think you’ll ever have more kids?”
My eyes fly open. “You are awake.”
“Yeah.” A soft sigh wafts over the bed. “Sorry. Never mind.”
“It’s okay.” I pause. “I don’t know about having more kids.”
“Same.”
“Are you afraid?”
“Yes. But also… eh. I don’t know. Are you afraid?”
I think before replying. “No. But I don’t deserve kids.”
Her head lifts in the shadowy room and I can feel her frown. “What do you mean?”
I shouldn’t have said that. “Come here.”
She hesitates, then rolls off the couch and joins me on the bed, wrapped in her blanket. With her head on the pillow facing me, I roll to my side, too. I can make out her big, shadowy eyes and plump lips. I set my hand on her hip.
“When my dad died, my mom told me I had to be ‘the man of the house’. I think she was trying to give me a reason to be strong. But I took it seriously. I was going to look after her and my sisters.”
She nods.
