“Yes.”
“Do you ever have bad ones?”
“Many.”
“I hate those kinds. I’d rather have the good ones.” I scooted myself back, so I was sitting against the headboard.
“What are your good dreams?” he asked.
I opened my mouth to answer, but before I could, another thought struck me. The door hadn’t been open when I’d gone to bed. I’d made sure to close it. And lock it.
“How did you open my door?”
“With my hand?”
His confusion only increased mine. I had locked it. Hadn’t I?
“Okay. Why did you open my door?”
He remained quiet.
“You told me you wanted me to give you a chance to be less scary. I’m trying to figure out what non-scary purpose you had for coming into my room in the middle of the night.”
“You were very quiet. I needed to see you.”
“Were you worried I’d left? In the middle of the night?”
He grunted, and I couldn’t tell if he was agreeing or just making noise.
“That would be the same level of stupidity as trying to shoot one of you. I’m not that stupid.”
“You’re not stupid at all. You’re beautiful.”
His words were equally worrisome and flattering.
“You do know that how someone looks has nothing to do with how smart they are, right?”
He grunted again, and I was beginning to think he did that when he disagreed with what I was thinking but didn’t want to say so. Instead of finding it annoying, it amused me.
“Well, I promise never to sneak off in the middle of the night. Does that put your mind at ease?”
He gave a very human shrug.
“What would put your mind at ease?” I asked, trying to find a compromise.
“If you slept with the door open.”
“I closed it to feel safer.”
“I will keep you safe.”
A snort almost escaped me since I’d closed the door to keep myself safe from him.
“I’d feel more comfortable and sleep better if the door was closed.”
He grunted again and reached up to rub the back of his neck.
“Will you tell me about your good dreams?” he asked hesitantly, bringing us back to his original question.