“I don’t care about the money,” I said, realizing it was true. Money didn’t seem important like it used to.
“I won’t be able to sleep until I know you can.”
I let out a sigh and went back into the room, going to the opposite side of the bed. I left my flannel pants and shirt on and lifted the corner of the covers.
“Are you sure?” I asked again.
“Yes,” she groaned. “Hurry up. You’re letting in the cold air.”
I slid between the sheets and shoved the pillow that I’d contemplated using as a weapon just moments ago beneath my head.
Piper didn’t turn toward me. She stayed in the same position, but her body remained relaxed.
Would she be so relaxed if she knew who was really in her bed?
“Is that better?” she asked through the dark.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Mmmm, good. I’m going to sleep. No funny business.” She warned, the words hardly sounding like a threat around her wide yawn.
I felt the side of my mouth tip up. But then it fell away. I’d done a lot of crappy things in my life, but lying here in this bed felt like the worst. I didn’t deserve her trust, yet I had it. I wasn’t fit to breathe the same air as her.
I waited until I heard her quiet snore and knew she was asleep. Then I got out of the bed, tucking the blankets back around her, and let myself out of her room, pulling the door around on my way out.
I went back to the living room and the itchy couch. Even that was better than I deserved.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Fun - pleasure, gaiety, or merriment. Playful, often noisy, activity.”
Piper
I rolled over onto my side, facing the place on the mattress where Dex lay last night, and I opened my eyes. He was gone. I couldn’t help but be a little disappointed. Part of me wanted to see what he looked like first thing in the morning. I smiled, thinking he’d probably look the same, minus the glasses, because I don’t think he ever combed his hair.
I stretched like a cat beneath the blankets and then threw them back and stood, pulling on a thick pair of socks and a sweatshirt over my pajamas. Dex was already up and when I entered the room, he turned from the window.
“Coffee,” he said in a desperate tone.
I laughed and went into the kitchen to get a pot started. “You know these things are really easy to use,” I said, pointing at the coffee maker.
He grunted like he didn’t agree and turned back to look out the window and the beautiful expanse of land and snow. When the pot was about half full, I pulled it out and poured two cups. The only thing in the fridge was a container of creamer and I dumped about half in his mug. When I tasted what he was drinking at the diner the other day, I figured that much was about right.
I grabbed both our mugs and went across the room to where he stood and he took his and drank about half in one great gulp. He groaned appreciatively and I shook my head and took a sip of my less-creamer-laden brew.
“Let’s go do something,” Dex said, his voice full of enthusiasm as if the coffee turned immediately into energy.
“Like what?”
He finished off the rest of his mug and smacked his lips together, then turned from the window and went toward his bag sitting in the corner.
“Layer up,” he said. “You’ll see.”
“What about my coffee?” I asked, smiling. I liked this energetic side of him.
“Drink up, woman. There’s fun to be had!”
He bustled around the room, putting on layers, a coat, and a knit hat. Then he went to the door of the cabin and looked over his shoulder. “I’ll be back.”
