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Eight
Felicity tiptoed down the hall to Ayla’s room. She stood in the doorway and watched as Wynn put his hand on the infant’s forehead.
“Does she feel hot?” she whispered.
He turned to stare at her and then looked back at the child. “No. She’s sleeping normally. And her skin is cool.”
“Good.”
When Wynn exited the room, he barely acknowledged Felicity at all. He stalked back to his bedroom. She wondered for half a second if he would try to keep her out.
But no...
He picked up his pillow and the book on the nightstand. “I think I should sleep on the sofa,” he said. “The bed’s all yours.”
Her heart fell. “It’s the pajamas, isn’t it? I don’t arouse you because I look like a frumpy bag lady.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?”
“They’re flannel. And they’re old and ratty. Men like sexy lingerie.”
A flush of dark color rode high on his cheekbones. The front of his sleep pants stuck out. “Wrong,” he said tersely. “Men like naked skin. Always. Why do you think I made you put on pajamas in the first place? I’m trying to comfort you, Fliss. But you’re not making it easy.”
She crossed the room. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you on this.” She smiled wistfully. “My timing sucks. I get that.” That was pretty much the story of their whole relationship. “I’m disappointed, but I understand. And of course, you’re right.”
He stood rigid, holding the pillow like a shield. “We can revisit this conversation later in the week. If you still want to talk about it. But not tonight.”
He walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. Embarrassment washed over her, mixing with the grief and uncertainty.
She escaped to her room and flung herself into bed, drawing the covers completely over her body. In some tiny corner of her soul, she had believed that Wynn still had feelings for her. Not the kind to sustain a relationship, but at least enough to enjoy a hook-up for old time’s sake. But if he did, his scruples were stronger.
She’d made a fool of herself. Wynn was trying to be kind. Earlier, he had intimated the two of them might enjoy a temporary affair.
But that was before she had rubbed snot on his shirt and turned into a needy crybaby.
She flinched when the light came on. At least it wasn’t the overhead.
Someone pulled back the covers.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Fliss. I know you’re not asleep. I give up. Move over.”
She sat up and glared at him. From the way he winced, she could tell that she must look absolutely wretched. “No, no, no. You made your stance on this issue perfectly clear. No sex when Felicity is a total mess.”
He ignored her, sighed and joined her in the bed keeping a healthy distance between them. “We’re both exhausted. The baby will be awake in a couple of hours. You need to sleep.”
To her surprise, she did. It wasn’t as nice as spooning with Wynn, but having him in her bed at all was the best feeling she could imagine at this low point in her life.
Wynn made her feel less alone.
When she woke up Monday morning, she was alone. But she could hear Wynn and Ayla in the kitchen. The sound of his deep voice and the baby’s babbling carried down the hall.
And then it hit her. Wynn was supposed to be at work. She grabbed clothes but didn’t bother with another shower. Once she was dressed, she brushed her hair and threw it up in a ponytail.
Makeup was no decision at all. A little colored lip gloss and that was it. She made it to the kitchen in fourteen minutes flat, almost skidding as she rounded the corner.
Wynn looked up in alarm. “What’s wrong? Is the apartment on fire?”
“It’s late. You need to be at work. And I know I’m leaving you in the lurch to go South for the funeral, but surely there’s someone you know who could help out for a few days.”
