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I curl my fingers into the edge of the mattress, squeezing my eyes shut. The last tendrils of fear still tease through my body, remnants of a recurring nightmare I thought I’d left behind years ago. Warmth soaks my side as Des shifts closer, his arm curling around my waist. Gently, he urges me to lie back on the bed, flicking the covers over us both. I lie on my side with my back to him, lulled by the movement of his hands up and down my spine, down my arms, over my sides, and up into my hairline. He strokes my body until I have no choice but to relax. It isn’t sexual, but it’s intimate in a way I didn’t realize I needed.
“I used to have that dream all the time,” I admit when my heartbeat is back down to normal.
“When Bailey was little?”
“Mm. I felt like I was losing my mind. I loved her so much, but I was terrified that I’d mess up, that I wouldn’t be able to care for her the way she deserves.”
His hand pauses on my back, then keeps stroking. “Well, you’ve done a fantastic job.”
I glance over my shoulder, meeting his gaze. “You really think so?”
A soft smile tugs at his lips. “I really do.”
I turn back to stare at the wall, the movement of his hand on my back lulling me closer to sleep. “She likes you, you know,” I tell him. “She’ll be sad when you leave. I probably shouldn’t have done this, brought her here. She’ll be confused.”
“She’s a great kid,” Des replies. His strokes are soft, soothing, until I let out a long breath and finally relax. The bed shifts, and I feel him sit up behind me.
Before I can stop myself, I say, “Stay.”
He freezes.
I glance over my shoulder, seeing nothing but the shape of him in the dark. “The floor can’t be comfortable. You won’t get a wink of sleep, and you need your energy for the race.”
Yes—the race. That’s why I want him to lie in bed beside me.
His shadowy form watches me for a long moment, then he slowly, tentatively, lies back on the pillows beside me. There are a few inches of space between us. I keep facing away from him, and I can tell he’s on his back with his hands curled behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
I want him to touch me the way he did before, soothing and tender. And in the darkness of our bedroom, I can admit that I’d like him to touch me in other ways too.
But neither of us move, and after a while, I drift to sleep.
22
SIMONE
I. Love.This. Town.
It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Georgia was right when she compared it to Seuss’s Whoville. Lots of houses are painted bright colors, there are cute little shops selling all manner of unique and handmade goods, and the locals make sure to always say hello when they pass you on the street.
All nineteen of us arrived and checked into the duplex we rented last night. The hosts left us a case of wine and a list of things to do in town, highlighting the light show happening on Friday evening.
Now, we’re out for breakfast at one of the diners with stellar reviews tucked just off the main drag on Thanksgiving morning.
I order eggs, bacon, and hash browns, and because I love my husband, I let him steal a piece of bacon from my plate. Truly, I don’t recognize myself anymore, because it doesn’t even bother me. Glancing out the windows at the cute, curlicued lampposts and the bare trees, I lean into Wes’s side and sigh. “I bet this place is amazing in the winter. We should come skiing.”
“You hate the cold,” he reminds me.
“You could come skiing,” I amend, “and I’ll stay in the lodge drinking hot cocoa and mulled wine. Hey, Georgia, how’s Piper’s job going? When can we see the ski resort she’s designing?”
Georgia sets her coffee cup down and smiles. “You can ask her yourself.”
“Hello, hello!” Piper comes blowing through the door, two boys in tow. Nate and Alec hop around her like jumping beans, calling out what they want for breakfast.
When the three of them are settled at a nearby table, I lean over. “How are you doing, Piper? How’s work?”
Her gaze darkens. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I arch a brow. “That bad, huh?”
