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“Or what?”

“I’ll tell him to eat the other one.”

I’m still smiling when I tuck my legs underneath me and settle against him. His arm stays around my shoulders as he reaches for the remote with his other hand.

A few clicks later, the opening music for Pride and Prejudice fills the room.

I lift my head. “Wait. You just happen to have this queued up?”

He smirks. “I saw it on your streaming queue.”

I snuggle closer. “You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to, but I can watch your stuff too.” His thumb stills on my shoulder. “You’ve sat and watched so much sports with me. Never once said anything—”

“I do like sports.”

“I know you do, but let’s see if I like the movies you watch when you get to choose.”

Pickles noses at my ankle for a minute before giving up and collapsing across both our feet with a sigh, like the whole evening’s been a real ordeal for him specifically.

We focus on the movie. I press my face into his chest when Mr. Collins proposes.

Wyatt laughs.

By the time Darcy is telling Elizabeth his feelings haven’t changed, I desperately need to pee. “I’ll be right back.”

Wyatt makes some distracted sound without taking his eyes off the TV, and I head down the hall.

On the way, something on the bookshelf catches my eye.

I stop.

There’s a copy of Pride and Prejudice wedged between the other books there.

I feel this huge rush of affection. I know Wyatt must have bought the book because of me. He’s so unexpectedly sweet that it makes my heart hurt.

In the bathroom, I wash my hands and catch myself staring at the counter. My face wash is still sitting beside his deodorant from when I stayed here with Pickles, and the spare toothbrush I used is still in the cup next to his.

I’m still staring at them when Wyatt wanders in a few minutes later. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches our reflection for a second like he’s taking inventory of something.

“Stay the night?” he asks.

My heart starts to race, my thoughts swirling. I know he’s offering more than just the space beside him in his bed.

He must see something in my face because he steps closer and turns me to face him. “No pressure. But I like the thought of waking up next to you—”

“I didn’t even bring pajamas.”

His mouth immediately curves.

I point at him. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he protests, looking far too pleased with himself. “You got there all on your own.”

Heat rushes into my cheeks.

He walks away for a second and returns. “But I’m more than happy to lend you something to wear.”