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“Neither do I.”
“Is that why you live on a narrowboat?”
“Part of it.”
“What were you trying to change about yourself?”
His eyes flicked to mine. “Everything.”
“How very sexy and mysterious.”
“I wish it was.” His mouth turned up slightly. “Sorry, I think I’m out of the habit of having company.”
“I’m not exactly at my best right now either.”
“You’re…” Now he was staring at the ceiling again, though I wasn’t sure what help it was going to give him. “You’re fine.”
“Fine,” I repeated as disparagingly as the word deserved. “Thanks.”
“What do you want me to say? That you’d be my top pick to sprain your ankle outside my boat?”
“Why not?”
“Well”—his palm moved from my ankle to my calf—“you’re clearly trouble.”
“You have no idea.”
“My guess is…”
This hint of playfulness was going to kill me. Whimsy had always been a weakness of mine. It ran through Edwin like glitter through quartz. “Mm?”
“Rock star fallen on hard times,” he suggested. “Or a prince from a European country invented by a streaming service.”
“My father’s from an actual European country. Does that count?”
“Only if he’s the king of it.”
“Poland abolished the monarchy over a century ago.”
“Rock star it is, then.” His hand didn’t stray farther—and it made me wonder if he’d intended to stray at all. “I thought lost prince was probably pushing it.”
“I could be royalty.”
“From a PG-rated film?”
Promising. But I performed indignation on principle. “What are you implying?”
“Nothing,” he said, disappointingly. And then, with a trace of uncertainty, “Given your earlier suggestion, I wasn’t sure a wholesome kiss as the credits rolled would be your thing.”
“It’s not,” I agreed. “But I’m your guest. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”18
“You’re intending for it to be uncomfortable?”
The air caught in my throat, turning whatever I’d planned to say into a splutter. “Well,” I tried instead. “I can be quite a lot to take.”
“Emotionally or geographically?”
My own laughing surprised me. “Both.”
