Page 34 of Serving Bunt

He stepped aside without hesitation.

I crossed the threshold and breathed a sigh of relief. If my cabin were an oven, his was a deep freezer.

“I can take the floor,” I offered.

Matty rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. The bed’s big enough for the two of us. Well, three.”

He gestured toward the dog curled up at the head of the bed, half of her body concealed by pillows.

I nodded. “I’m surprised you’re still awake.”

“Yeah. I was, uh, reading.”

There it was again. That Matty Miller signature blush.

He looked like a little boy who had just been caught sneaking cookies. Although, something told me it was a bit more scandalous than that.

“Must be one hell of a book.”

Matty’s ears went pinker. “It’s . . . for Nessa’s book club.”

I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face. “You read romance novels?”

“Don’t you dare give me shit,” he muttered. “Not after all the rom-coms you’ve made us watch for M&M nights.”

I held my hands up in front of me. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Matty shot me a look that said he didn’t believe me for a second, then headed toward the bed. “I hope you don’t mind the right side.”

“Works for me.”

I climbed in opposite his side, the cool sheets a welcoming relief against my overheated skin. Mo gave me a quick sniff before settling between us and curling up like a little, furry croissant.

Matty clicked off the bedside lamp.

For a moment, we just lay there in the dark, side by side, separated by mere inches.

And a wiener dog.

“Gotta say,” I murmured, breaking the silence. “I had you pegged as more of a nightshirt to bed kind of guy.”

Matty huffed a quiet laugh. “A nightshirt? What am I, Ebenezer Scrooge?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “You’ve got the whole . . . buttoned up, Southern gentleman thing going for you. Feels possible.”

“In what universe?”

“In this one.” I turned my head so I could just make out his outline in the dark. “You bake with your granny’s handwritten recipe cards and say things like ‘let’s not dillydally.’”

“I have never said dillydally in my life.”

“You absolutely have,” I pressed.

“Have not.”

Mo let out a sleepy snort, like even she knew he was lying.

God, this felt nice. Too nice.