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“And?”
I rub his leg with mine under the dinner table. “I thought it kind of helped. It made me dizzy. But I got some sleep before I went off it.”
He passes me the folded paper. I open it. “So just one pill right before bed? That’s a pretty low dose. I have that in a drawer here. You don’t have to fill this if you want to try mine.”
He nods, chewing tenderloin. The subject drops while we make ice cream: Bear’s idea—something he and his brothers used to do with their mom on their back porch. We have sex on the armchair in the den, and while I slip off to the bathroom, Bear slips into the garage to pluck a petal from one of my gardenias. I find him cupping it in his big hand, looking embarrassed.
I grin. “How’s all that going? Blossoming?” I tease.
He smiles. “You can probably bring them in soon. Even now.”
“I’ll let you do that.”
He does the dishes while I package some stuffed bears and watch Papa on the tracking software. He’s not staying in one spot, which is strange, so I’ve been monitoring him. No sign of anything odd, and definitely no humans, so that’s good.
When I go back into the kitchen half an hour later, one of my gardenias is in the center of the table.
The dishwasher is going, and Barrett’s leaning against the counter going at a block of wood with—
“What is that?”
He stops carving and smirks. He holds a knife up. “This?”
“What is that?”
He turns the block of wood around. I laugh. “A pig!”
“For you, my dear.” He grins.
I throw my head back laughing. “That’s— adorable. So I’m Piglet now forever, am I?”
“Pig and Bear. Next thing I do, I’ll do us both.”
“That sounds dirty.”
He arches one brow. “Dirty Piglets need baths.”
We find ourselves lying underneath the shower water, fucking more like rabbits than a pig and bear. After that, we watch The Princess Bride while Barrett whittles the pig’s flank, and after that, I brush my teeth. When I come out, he asks for one of my Prazosin.
We go to bed wrapped in each other’s arms and Barrett wakes me up some time later, his hand locked around my upper arm.
“Gwen?”
I frown up at him. Is he…standing by the bed? His face is troubled. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry… I can’t stand up straight.”
“Ohhh…I see.” I sit up, take his shoulders. “It’s okay. Can you get on the bed?”
“I don’t know. Fuck.” There’s a cord of desperation in his voice that makes my heart twist.
“It’s okay…” I slide down with him, and we sit together on the floor.
“What woke you up?” I murmur.
“Thirsty I think.”
I stroke his hair. “Do you feel sick, or just dizzy?”
