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I smile and answer, “Done. But Petra, there’s no right or wrong in this kind of situation. Feelings aren’t correct or incorrect; they just are what they are. The important thing is to learn from them and grow. Maybe next time you’ll keep your eyes open better before you get involved.”
“Listen to you being all psychologicalistical,” she says with a teasing look.
“Says the person who uses words for a living. That’s a new one. Feeling a little buzzed?” I nod toward her margarita. We both laugh and finish our tacos.
As soon as we’re done, we clean up and head downstairs to watch the movie. I know I’m feeling pretty mellow after the margaritas we drank, so it feels good to let the dogs out and flop down on the big, cushy sofa with Petra. I’ve always loved this movie, but I tend to forget the great music it has in it too. We laugh together as we both recite lines with the actors for a while.
“Want another drink?” I ask. “I can run up and grab some more.”
Petra rolls her eyes. “I’ve had enough, but thanks.” Then she laughs as we see three doggie faces staring at us through the sliding glass door at the back of the room.
I get up and let them in, closing the drapes behind them, and of course, all three dogs come barreling to the sofa and take up residence on either end. Gus lands his head in Petra’s lap, and my two dogs spread out next to where I was sitting. I’m barely left with any room in the middle with Petra. Not that I mind.
“Sorry,” I mumble as I shift Goliath over a little. It’s a tight squeeze, but Petra doesn’t complain. I’ll have to remember extra dog treats at bedtime, I think, as I mentally fist pump.
Petra’s eyes seem to droop toward the end of the movie, so I slide an arm around her and bring her toward my chest—telling myself that I’m just being friendly.Yeah right. She lets out a little sigh, and her whole body relaxes into mine. Wow, does this ever feel good. Her gorgeous hair smells like flowers—or maybe it’s coconut. Either way, I try not to be conspicuous about sniffing her to decide. It’s been a long time since I’ve either held anyone or been this attracted. But Petra has been through a lot, and she deserves to feel safe in her home. I’ll have to watch my step and make sure I don’t put my attraction ahead of her comfort.
It’s so warm and cozy surrounded by dogs and Petra, I find myself nodding off too. It’s not until Petra lets out a long whimper and begins to tremble that I wake up and realize it’s hours past midnight. I can’t stop myself from kissing the top of her head and giving her a gentle squeeze. “Petra,” I whisper, “we need to get up and go to bed. It’s really late.”
She jolts awake and sits straight up with a confused look. She looks at Gus and then at me with questions in her eyes and then visibly relaxes. “Oh, Weston. I’m sorry I fell asleep on you. I guess everything just hit me all at once.”
“No apology necessary.”
“Hmm, you say so.” She snorts a little. “But I think I drooled on your shirt.”
I look down and see a definite wet spot. Shrugging, I assure her, “No harm done, but we need to hit our beds so we’re not all stiff tomorrow from sleeping sitting up.” I can hear the sound of some distant thunder, so I pull out my phone to check the weather map. “Looks like a storm is blowing in, but there aren’t any tornado warnings. We don’t need to stay down here.”
We all trek up two flights of stairs and head to our rooms. I feel this sudden need to give Petra a kiss but decide it would be completely inappropriate, so instead I tell her goodnightand lead Dave and Goliath into my bedroom. She mumbles something and closes her door. She looks beat.
However, about twenty minutes later, the thunder has rolled into our neighborhood, and it’s deafening. My dogs are fortunately unaffected by it, but I worry about how Gus is handling it. I wonder whether I ought to check on Petra when I hear a light knock on my door. “Come in,” I call out over the sound of the storm. It must be hailing because it’s loud out there.
“Weston? I’m so sorry to bother you,” she says sheepishly. Petra walks into my room, closely followed by Gus, who is panting a little, but mostly looks like his normal, happy self. So he’s not the problem. “I feel so silly asking, but… I’m kind of scared to stay in my room,” she tells me. “The wind is blowing a tree limb into the house, and it keeps banging really hard on my window. I’m afraid it’s going to shatter the glass.”
“Do you want to stay in here with me? I’ll do something about the tree in the morning, but it’s way too late to do much of anything else right now. The other options would be for you to take a blanket and sleep on the basement couch or on the uncomfortable futon in my office,” It’s dark, but I can clearly see that Petra is wearing a tank top and some sleeping shorts, both of which hug her body beautifully. “I promise to be a gentleman, and there is plenty of room in this bed.”
Petra only answers, “Thanks,” and she is crawling under the covers before I can even finish my statement about not groping her. Gus also hops up and curls himself into a big hairy ball at her feet. “Night, Weston,” she murmurs as she turns onto her side facing away from me. At least my dogs have their own beds; it would feel like a mob scene if all five of us tried to sleep here. I’m certainly not lonely, though—that’s for sure.
The thunder begins to peter out gradually, but now I can definitely hear the tree hitting the house, just as she’d said. Thatone’s going to be a pain to fix, but as Petra lets out a little sigh of contentment, I can’t find it in me to be annoyed.
Five
Callum
I’m soexcited about my new place to live, I’m up by six and ready to go in no time since I’d already put most of my stuff into my car last night. I give my parents a hug on my way out the door. We’re all early birds in this house, so seeing them up at this hour makes sense. They wish me well, and I’m outta there after promising to come home to see them a lot.
This almost feels even better than when I headed off to college. It’s like a whole new chapter of my life is beginning this morning but without the fear. I’m hungry, though. On the way to Carmel, I decide to stop and pick up some essentials for breakfast at least. Maybe I can surprise everyone with a nice meal.
Traffic is light, and the market is nearly deserted as I fill up the cart with fresh fruit, eggs, and the fixings for omelets, waffles, and a few other things I have brewing in my head. I wonder briefly if Weston has a waffle iron, but then decide that if he doesn’t, I’ll just make pancakes or scones instead. I’ll haveto get one for the future; Sunday brunch isn’t the same without a Belgian waffle covered with fresh berries.
By the time I get to the house, I’m so hungry, I decide to make breakfast before unloading anything out of my car. There’s a sizeable branch that blew down last night and is taking up some of the driveway, so I get out and drag it out of the way. I guess we’re going to have to do some serious yard cleanup today after that wild storm we had last night. It’s kind of a mess. Typical Indiana springtime storm.
I haul in the groceries, happy to have my own key, and get to work putting everything away and getting organized to cook. In perusing the cupboards, I’m delighted to find a vintage waffle iron with a cord that makes me wonder if it’s older than I am. But it seems to be in good shape—no fraying wires or anything—so I decide to take a chance. The house is quiet; it seems pretty obvious that everyone, including the dogs, is still asleep. It is Sunday morning, after all.
I get the waffle batter ready and prepare the eggs and fillings for the omelets. I make some bacon and brew a pot of coffee, and I make sure the table in the breakfast nook has everything on it we need. I’d considered squeezing orange juice, but the bottled stuff is good enough if you get the right kind, especially if you’re making mimosas, so I skip that step. Eventually, I’m all ready to go except for the final last-minute cooking and decide it’s time to go wake up the household. I hope they’re not upset with me, but it’s almost nine a.m. now, and I’m starved.
As I get to the top of the stairs, I hear voices and a feminine laugh. Petra then opens the door to Weston’s bedroom and steps out with a huge smile on her face. She sees me and jumps about a foot in the air, clutching her chest. Gus barrels around her, all smiley and wagging his tail a hundred miles an hour. He comes right up to me and sits on my feet. I am so shocked, I don’t know what to say, but the words, “Wow, it didn’t take you guys long!”pop unbidden out of my mouth before my brain catches up to the idea that what they choose to do in bed is none of my business. Petra is wearing the tiniest speck of sleepwear I’ve ever seen—certainly nothing I’d ever refer to as pajamas. They leave nothing to the imagination, and I can’t stop staring at her.
Weston quickly appears behind Petra, and his glorious broad chest is on full display, as all he is wearing is a pair of low-slung pajama bottoms. He’s beautifully ripped and obviously takes care of himself. My eyes shift to him, and I take in the sight greedily. I can’t stop myself. A rush of profound jealousy courses through me as I acknowledge how striking they are together, but I don’t even know who I’m jealous of.
