“You really don’t mindme staying over?” Her question comes over a yawn that cues my own. “I can get a hotel or something.”
It’s three in the morning, and my entire body wants to sink into the driver’s seat of my truck. My brain is buzzing, though, because Eliza’s curled up in my passenger seat,looking right at home with her cheek pressed against the headrest, sleepy face turned toward me.
Her eyes were heavy with exhaustion by the time Anson and I returned to the truck, and she barely managed to stave off sleep during our drive.
“If I bring you to a hotel, you’ll pass out before you even reach your room.”
“M’kay.” Another mighty yawn fills the cab, and she nestles in, the frizzy waves of her hair smushing against the leather. “Maybe I’ll just sleep here.”
No way is she sleeping outside in my truck. I’d give her my own bed and sleep on the floor before I’d allow that. “These seats are leather, Boston. I’m not letting you get your drool all over them.”
I hop out, the wind rustling my wet hair. The rain stopped an hour ago and the thunder is long past, thankfully, but the evidence of the storm is everywhere, from flooded roads and the water pooling in my driveway to the mossy smell of the woods surrounding my home.
After grabbing her bag from the back seat, I circle the hood and pop her door open. She twists around, face crinkled in thought.
“You know, that bachelorette party from the other day wasn’t far off.”
I’m really not sure where this is going. That bachelorette party said a lot of things, many of which were objectively wrong. Morally speaking.
“Youarepretty chivalrous,” she decides.
I step aside so she can slide out. “Complimenting me? You must be awfully tired.”
Proving my point, she yawnsagain. But then she says, with complete sincerity, “I mean it.”
I’m not sure what to say to that, just know that it makesme feel like I’m doing something right. Closing the truck door, I lead the way inside, where Dave greets us.
Eliza pauses at the entryway, like she’s facing off with a hulking bouncer. “Can we call a truce for tonight?” she asks him wearily.
Dave stares at her for a few seconds, then turns and waddles back to his little bed by the couch.
Viscerally aware of her presence in my home, I watch as she scans the open living room in front of us, tracking the wood beams across the ceiling and the sparsely furnished space beneath it. For probably the first time in my life, I wish I had a fucking candle lit. Something to warm the space up, make it less of a bachelor pad.
At least it’s not a mess.
Her scan ends on me, dark circles heavy under her eyes. She’s had a hell of a night. We both have.
“It’s a nice place,” she says softly.
Clearing my throat, I nod toward the hall. “Let me show you the guest room.” She nods and files in behind me, head swiveling as we pass the kitchen.
I kick myself for not cleaning the counters after dinner, saving the work for the morning.
Since when am I self-conscious about my home?
“This is usually Lala’s room,” I explain as we enter the guest room.
“Did you do this all yourself?” she asks, taking in the pale pink bedspread, soccer-ball shaped pillows and sparkle nightlight.
I nod, setting her bag down on the carpet. “Just want her to like sleeping over here.” I’ve never felt as lost as I did walking into the home goods store, searching through all the frilly pink and stuffed unicorns for stuff she’d like.
A small smile plays on her lips. “I’m sure she’d love sleepovers with her big brother, regardless.”
“Try my best.” Half the time, I don’t even know if I’m doing it right. How Anson stepped right in as her parent-figure is beyond me. To say it’s not easy is the understatement of the year.
Eliza quietly circles back to me, her drying shirt hanging loosely off her frame, almost swallowing her. She tilts her head, considering me. “You aren’t who I thought you were.”
In the dead, empty silence of this room, it sounds like a confession. Her quiet honesty pulls a reply from my tongue.
