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“Give her a room here without talking to me.”
I gather the three dirty plates on the table to engage my hands. “She’s mine, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“And I presume we’ll share some form of custody?”
“We haven’t worked that far head, but yes.”
The plates rattle when I deposit them beside the sink. The counter at my back serves as an appropriate resting place to maintain our distance. “So what’s the problem?”
“What’s the… are you serious? The problem is we haven’t talked about any of this. What are you doing, Dane?”
I rest a palm on the counter behind me and scratch the bridge of my nose with the side of my thumb. “I’m moving you in.”
Her mouth falls open. “I…you…what?” she sputters. If she wasn’t so damn beautiful, I might muster an ounce of annoyance, but I’m wrapped up under her spell. All I want to do is stare at her and soak her in.
“Now who’s being obtuse?”
“How do you figure?”
“So far, I’m yet to hear a plan, so I created one. This way, we don’t have to shuffle Ophelia back and forth between houses. When it’s my time with her, I’ll work out my bar schedule and be here, and when it’s your turn, I’ll make myself scarce.”
“And sleeping arrangements?”
“I’ll take the couch, and you can have the bed.”
The violent shake of her head sends her hair flying. “No. Absolutely not. I can’t sleep in your bed.”
“Too many memories?” I quirk my lips. I may be goading her, but there has to be a small price for leaving me in the middle of the night after the best one-night stand of my life.
“I actually can’t recall any.”
With a quick shove, I take two paces across the room. “Bullshit,” I growl.
The hitch of her breath calls her on her lie. “That’s not important.”
“I can still remember how you taste.”
“We’re getting off topic.”
Another step. “I think we’re precisely on track.” I don’t stop until I’m a pillar before her. Her head tips back, sending her hair cascading down her back.
“I’m not here to be with you,” she says breathily. The verbal sparring is a shield against what she truly wants.
“You sang a different tune then.”
“It was one night.”
“Neither one of us stated that intention.”
“That’s all it is now.”
“Why? Better question why did you leave that morning?”
She moves a fraction closer. “Because I’m a broken mess. My life back home. My health.” She grips the hair at her crown.
I’m thoroughly doused by her words. “Are you okay right now?” Caught up in the heat of the moment, I didn’t consider her anxiety.
“I’m okay right now.”
“Your heart isn’t racing?”
“Not like it was the other day.”
I want to touch her so damn bad to soothe the frayed edges. But that isn’t what she needs, and I’d be smart to keep my impulses in check. “I’ll stay out of your way.” I revisit our original argument. “You’re here until the wedding, that much is certain. Give this a shot until then.”
Her teeth abuse her bottom lip. “I guess this makes sense. For Ophelia,” she adds.
“Of course.” But it makes sense for us too. Someone needs to keep an eye on her. The strong woman before me has shouldered too much for far too long. She deserves a peaceful place to get her head on straight, and I intend to find one for her. Even if it happens to be in my own damn house. With or without me in it.
“I’m glad that’s settled,” she remarks after a long pause of staring at one another. There’s no way she doesn’t feel the heat brewing between us. It’s nearly palpable.
“We should write down a schedule. That way, I don’t tread on your time.”
She finally moves away from the guest bedroom door. “I work most days from nine to five, but I’m fully remote, so I can take my laptop anywhere.”
The pad of paper and pen remain where I left them on the counter. “I’m needed at the bar for closing Friday and Saturday nights, and sometimes I have to pick up if we’re short staffed. But if you ever want to get away, we can call Evelyn to babysit. She loves kids.” I jot down our schedules.
“I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”
“I also open the bar Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday and work until dinner.”
She studies the sheet of paper. “You can have Sundays with her after you’ve recovered from your late-night shift.”
I add that to my list, and we continue to fill in the gaps, trying to provide as little overlap as possible. When the paper is full, I scribble my name across the bottom with a dramatic flourish. “Here. Sign.”
She adds her petite scrawl above mine.
