I want to take off all my clothes and fling myself at him as if I’m young and worry free and not an exhausted thirty-plus woman who feels fifty and is still raising her grown-ass brother.
He hesitates.
My bravado falters. I can’t do this.I can’t.I don’t even know him. Not to mention the ethical ramifications. I’ve never propositioned a guest. I’ve never been tempted until now.
My heart sinks. He’s going to say no. It’s written in the tightening of his eyes, the slight downturn of his lips.
Probably for the best, I console myself.
He swallows. “Sure.” His brows lift, and he stares at me, a bit dazed, like he’s as surprised as I am that he agreed.
I glance down at my dirty clothes. First things first. I stink. “There are beers in the fridge. Will you grab a couple? I can meet you on the front porch in a minute. There’s a heater out there and blankets on the porch swing. It’s really quiet, and we won’t wake Sleeping Beauty.” I clear my throat. “I need to freshen up real quick.”
He stares at me for a long second and then gives a clipped nod. “Okay.”
As soon as he turns away, I bolt down the hall to my room.
Whipping my clothes off like a whirling dervish, I race across the hall to the bathroom to rinse off—no way am I doing anything, even having a simple conversation with someone, until I’ve had a chance to disinfect.
I take a brief second to stare at myself in the mirror. No makeup, puffy eyes, messy hair . . . No one in their right mind would find this attractive. “What are you doing, Finley?”
I summon my courage. I’m taking a little moment for myself. That’s what I’m doing. Don’t I deserve it? A little bit of fun? A little bit of mindless pleasure? All I ever think about is this place and Jacob and my sisters and family and responsibilities. Haven’t I earned this, just for one night? I willnotfeel guilty about grabbing a little slice of joy when it presents itself.
There’s no guarantee anything will happen anyway. If he leaves and I end up rejected and alone, it’s fine. It’s not like I’ll ever see him again.
If my life is going to continue to circle the drain, I might as well try to have a little fun on the way down, as long as no one gets hurt.
Bolstered by the thoughts, I throw on my favorite daisy-covered long-sleeved button-up, black yoga pants, and thick wool socks and head out to the front patio.
“Thank you for everything,” I tell Archer a few minutes later.
We’re sitting next to each other on the porch swing, beers in hand. I’m wrapped in one of the fleece blankets we keep out here for chilly nights, and Archer has one spread over his lap. The heater hums a few feet in front of us.
I breathe in the scent of pine and dirt and home. This is where I usually come to unwind after long days. Relaxing right now is impossible. I’m too conscious of the man beside me, the squareness of his jaw, the way the fabric of his flannel hugs his bicep, his hip only inches from mine.
He nods. “No problem. I’m happy to help.”
Oddly enough, he sounds like he means it.
“It’s nice out here,” he says after a pause. “Quiet.”
I stare down the gravel drive in front of us, leading into shadowy blackness. Beyond the porch, the night is dark and bracing, but we’re sitting in a faintly glowing circle, our faces periodically brushed with threads of warmth.
“The heater helps.” We both stare at it. “And the blankets,” I add.
A stilted, tense silence builds between us, brick by brick.
“I should tell you why I’m in town. I—”
“No. I don’t want to know where you’re from or why you’re here.”
He turns in the seat to face me, thick brows lifted. “You don’t?”
“I don’t want to make small talk.” The words are thrown out like a gauntlet between us, knocking the wall down.
He stares at me, unblinking.
I take his beer from his loose-fingered grip and put both bottles on the ground.