“It’s, like, three-thirty in the afternoon.”
“I know that, too.”
Her lips twitch into an amused smile. “Isn’t it a little early to be in pajamas?”
“Not really. I don’t plan on us going anywhere, so we might as well get comfy for the rest of the day. I’m thinking lots of food, TV, and hell, whatever else we come up with is in order.”
“I kind of love that plan.”
She boosts herself up onto her toes to give me a smacking kiss, and then she shoos me out of the room so she can take her shower.
“I could stay. Wash your back.”
But she just laughs, plants her hand in the middle of my chest, and pushes me out.
“I won’t be long,” she promises through the door.
“Take your time,” I reply and press my hand to the door before walking away to leave her to enjoy her shower and set the rest of my plan in motion.
“You didn’t pull the stuff out of the fridge like I asked,” I inform Petunia, who simply swirls in a circle and begins to bathe herself in the afternoon sunshine. “I see you’re concerned about it. But no worries, I have it all covered.”
I scored some brownies laced with caramel, along with salted caramel ice cream, from Huckleberry Delight, and I even hit up the grocery store to make sure I have all her favorite snacks around.
“She should have options,” I inform the cat, who just continues with her bath.
It’s a warm late spring afternoon, so I push open the accordion doors and let in the salty breeze.
The cat doesn’t ignore me now. She rushes out onto the deck and sits in front of the glass railing with wide, excited green eyes.
“Here, I bought you a bed for out here.” I set the fluffy, pink bed that I found the other day next to her, but she just hunkers down on the bare floor and blinks at me. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“Are you having a conversation with Petunia?”
I turn to answer Sarah, and my tongue has suddenly cemented itself to the roof of my mouth.
Holy fucking hell, she’s gorgeous. Her wet hair is combed but tousled around her shoulders. Her face is clean of makeup and dewy from the goop she uses on it.
And in those pajamas—shorts that have tacos all over them and a matching T-shirt that saysLet’s Taco-bout It—she’s just—
“Why are you staring at me like that?” she finally asks.
“Because you’re hot as hell, Sarah.”
She snorts and then actually laughs, shaking her head. “Right. This isn’t exactly a sexy look, Tanner, but you said I should get comfortable.”
I cross to her and tip her chin up, drag the pad of my thumb across her plump lower lip, and examine her eyes.
They’re better. Not nearly as shadowed as before, but there’s still just a hint of it there.
“I find that just about everything you do is sexy.”
“What if I belch?”
“Adorable.”
“Steal the covers?”
“I have plenty of blankets.”