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Blake started the truck and headed toward the dining hall. He’d massacred their last avocado in his attempt to slather it on her toast this morning, but Vera would have one in the kitchen she'd let him bring to Everly.
***
Blake flopped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He never had a problem falling asleep. What was the issue tonight? He’d gotten up early, worked hard, and eaten a fantastic supper. He’d gotten to talk to Everly more than once, and she’d been happy, which madehimhappy. All in all, he’d call the day a success.
So why wasn’t his brain getting the memo that it was time to shut down? There was something he’d missed. Something he’d forgotten? He’d checked his to-do list before leaving work, and everything looked great. Was it time to change the oil in his truck? He rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair. What was it?
It was that comment Jess had made about Everly having something to tell him. She hadn’t mentioned anything this evening after he got home, but he’d only passed her in the hallway. She’d left the tacos in the microwave for him since he’d gotten home so late.
Blake threw the covers off and grabbed for a pair of flannel pants and a T-shirt. If he’d have to wait until morning to figure out what Jess had been hinting at, he might as well watch a game or two on ESPN.
Tiptoeing out of the room and past Everly’s bedroom door, he flipped on the kitchen light at the bottom of the stairs. Movement in the living room caught his attention.
Everly looked over her shoulder from where she sat on the couch. “I thought you were asleep. Did I wake you?”
Blake stepped into the quiet living area. The lights were on low, and a small flame burned in the gas fireplace. “You didn’t.” He swallowed, but his throat was dry like sandpaper.
Why was he suddenly nervous around Everly? He wanted to be near her and talking to her all the time, but his mind got all gummed up when he saw her. He’d seen her brush her ponytail over her shoulder hundreds of times, but lately that casual movement–and any other Everly made–had him falling into a trance like a lovesick teenager.
She closed her laptop and started moving books around. “I’ll get out of your way so you can watch TV.”
Blake reached out a hand. “Wait. I didn’t mean to bother you. I just couldn’t sleep.”
Everly smiled up at him. “Me either.” She picked up a mug from the end table. “Chamomile tea usually helps me sleep.”
“No luck tonight?” He shifted his weight and stuffed his hands into his pockets.
“No.” Her laptop still rested on her lap, but she didn’t make a move to get up or relax back into the couch. She’d taken over the space, and she seemed comfortable.
Why did it satisfy him that she’d made herself at home in his house? He wanted to inhabit the same spaces that Everly moved in. He wanted to share everything with her. Shouldn’t that include a home?
The gut-wrenching truth had him fisting his hands in his pockets. He wanted those things with her as his wife–the missing piece that made him into a whole and better person. He’d heard Ridge loud and clear when the lines had been drawn before Everly moved in.
Blake wasn’t getting any younger. He wanted a life and a home with Everly. Too bad the timing wasn’t right.
He lowered his chin. “I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Wait.”
That one word had him stopping mid-turn. He’d been prepared to walk away. Heshouldwalk away.
But he couldn’t. That was all there was to it. He couldn’t walk away from Everly.
She moved her laptop to the coffee table and stood. “Let me make you some tea.”
His first thought was, “I’m not a tea kinda guy,” but for Everly, he’d try anything. He followed her to the kitchen where she’d already started filling a kettle.
Blake scratched the back of his neck. He wanted to spend time with her, but he didn’t want to bother her. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll just read a book or something.”
He definitely wouldn’t be reading a book. Maybe the latest articles on the ESPN website.
She put the kettle on the stove and turned the burner on. “No problem. I needed to get up. I’ve been sitting too long.”
Everly stretched her arms over her head, and Blake resolved to look at anything in the kitchen except her. She was making tea in the middle of the night, dressed in her baggy but still frustratingly flattering pajamas, and all he wanted to do was make this pretend domestic scene real. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and kiss her senseless by the low light of the fireplace.
“Is chamomile okay?” she asked.
Blake stared at her, wide-eyed like he’d been caught daydreaming about her.
