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“Much better, thank you.” She straightened the robe to cover her legs. “Rory has nice things. Are you sure it’s okay for me to borrow them?”
He waved a hand dismissively. “I thought we might have a walk through the town if you’re up for it.”
Get some breakfast into her and she was certainly up for it. “I’d love to. You’re not in a hurry to get back?”
“Not if you’re not.”
“I wrecked your whole weekend.” She smiled because he didn’t look unhappy about that.
He shrugged. “I was due for a day off.”
“Oh, Cal Sherwood wants to play hooky.”
“He wants a shower,” he said, coming across to the bag. She backed off to give him space because her instinct was to stand in his way so they’d have to touch. He did what she’d done: rummaged, came up with jeans and a Henley, dumped a pair of worn boots on the floor.
“I know you didn’t get time to work your magic last ni
ght. I’m really grateful for this.” She looked around the room because it was safer than looking at the boxer briefs Cal was holding.
“Should I have taken you home instead?”
She met his eyes; don’t look at the briefs or his body. “There was a distinct possibility I’d have been sick in your car or needed you to pull over a bunch of times. Also, I was miserable, and you made it better. Thank you for looking out for me.”
“I don’t want you to be miserable.”
“I don’t want you getting annoyed because we’re spending time together, but it’s not work.”
“I’ll try.” He picked up a shaving kit and moved past her. There was a distinct possibility he was trying not to smile.
“Cal.”
“Fin.” He didn’t turn to face her, but that smile was in his voice.
“Never mind.” What she wanted to say was too dangerous. What she had said was bound to annoy him. His ass in those sweats was unfairly phenomenal.
“What?”
“Last night—” Look at the shoulders on him, the divot of muscle in the back of his arm. He’d had that arm around her most of the night—at the gallery when it was allowed and in bed where she didn’t expect it.
He half-turned. “You weren’t feeling well and we—”
“Snuggled,” she finished.
“Snuggled. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“I wanted to say you give good snuggle.”
He said, “You’re not too bad yourself,” and stripped off his shirt before he shut the bathroom door with his foot, and as if that wasn’t bad enough he sang in the shower and he sounded good.
They had a home-cooked breakfast in the Hudson’s rose garden and then a leisurely stroll through Main Street. They spent nearly an hour in the antique store and longer in the bookshop, both of them emerging with parcels that Cal carried back to the car.
When she stumbled trying to avoid a wayward skateboarder, he took her hand. He didn’t let it go when the skateboarder found his footing and scooted past. He held her hand a lot. It was part of their story. It was showing affection, and since they were in public, Fin tried not to make anything of it.
She tried not to make anything of how he insisted they have a fancy morning tea when it was clear he was stopping so she could use a bathroom without her having to ask. She tried not to make anything of how boyish he seemed when they went to explore the riverside, pointing out this and that and playacting about pushing her in the Hudson while he held on around her waist.
He was in no hurry to get back to the city, and the sun was shining. It felt like they were a million miles away from Fin and Cal who had an arrangement to help each other make money from rich douchebags. There was no one on the docks or in Hudson Beach Glass they needed to impress, no issue they needed to cue, no signals to send across a crowded room, no one they needed to focus on but each other.
It might’ve been horribly strained. Apart from that first night at the Governor Hotel, they’d never spent time together that didn’t have a packed agenda. But the clock was set to fast, and it was early afternoon before Cal announced he was hungry, and with a lot of choice at hand they decided unanimously on burgers.
