Page 81 of Go Back to December

When Baz finally looks at me, I add, “After copious amounts of groveling.”

He shifts abruptly on the couch, and his retort drowns in a wince, followed by Lacy’s favorite curse.

“Let me get some ice.” I grab the empty bowls and flee the loaded conversation for the sanctity of the kitchen to retrieve the ice pack, his medication, and a glass of water.

Baz scrutinizes the pill bottle. “I can’t take these if I’m going to drive you home.”

“You can’t drive, regardless. And I’m not leaving.” I shove the bottle and the water at him. “We had a deal.”

Reluctantly, he accepts both, and I finish cleaning the dishes. The silence in the spare room dares me to hope that Luiza’s cooled down enough for rational conversation. I knock softly, and then more loudly, but there’s no answer. When I turn the knob, the door won’t budge.

Rather than risk another blowup, I open the laundry closet and pull out a spare blanket.

In the living room, Baz has settled back into the cushions, eyelids heavy, but when I spread the blanket on my end of the couch, his tranquility cracks.

“What are you doing?”

“The bedroom door is locked.”

He tries to scramble to his feet.

“Don’t move! You’re supposed to ice it for at least ten minutes.” I replace the pack on his knee. “It’s not a big deal. My toothbrush is in the bathroom. I’ll be fine here.”

“You’re not sleeping on the couch.”

“I’m used to it.”

“My bed is more than big enough for two people.”

An audible intake of breath vibrates between us.

“It’s not big enough for you and me together,” I manage.

“I just took medication that makes me drowsy. I will literally be restrained.”

His wandering fingers won’t be.

The thought must be plastered all over my face, because his eyes heat as he says, “It will make things worse if Luiza wakes up and finds you on the couch.”

That was the entire point of this ruse; I would help Baz with the boots, because as his girlfriend, I’d already be sharing his bed.

I search the room for another excuse and find the box of files.

The drama at Q has distracted me from the fact that there’s a real chance for us to save the café. Because of Baz. He delivered on the promises he made me at the hospital. Exceeded my expectations. He’s held up his end of our bargain.

Tonight is the last night for me to keep up my part of our deal. And I’ll be damned before I allow myself to fail at this one thing.

Slowly, I fold up the blanket and return it to the closet. Then I put away the dishes, so I’ll have something to occupy my fidgety hands.

Baz’s crutches clomp across the wood floors. When I turn to yell at him for getting up too soon, he holds out a folded charcoal-gray T-shirt.

“Luiza’s holding your pajamas hostage. You can use this. Don’t worry, it’s clean.”

I don’t need him to tell me. It’s drenched in the aroma of evergreens. I will not sleep one wink wrapped in Baz-scented cotton. But the only alternatives are burning in my wool sweater dress, or stripping down to my underthings.

Reluctantly, I take the T-shirt. I mindlessly go through the motions of brushing my teeth and washing my face in the spare bathroom. If I didn’t have such sensitive skin, I’d repeat the entire routine to buy more time. As I eye the T-shirt, I flush hot, then shiver. I'm going to need a pep talk with myself before I can change into it.

When I wander through the open door of Baz’s bedroom, he’s already in his pajamas; his feet rest in the boots.