I also need to read over my proposal and cost list for the newest renovated pool house and outdoor fireplace so I can send it to Dillion to vet. The family wants to get started on it next month, which means we need approval sooner rather than later.
I wait until Aaron’s been out for twenty minutes before I carefully get out of bed. I’ve learned that’s about how much time he requires to hit the deep-sleep stage, at which point I can sneak out of bed and work for a few hours before I take my sleep medication and join him again.
I grab my laptop from the kitchen counter and tiptoe across the room. I’m glad I added the folding room divider. I set my laptop up and adjust the divider to block the glow of my screen. I pour myself a glass of red wine—I don’t want to open the fridge to get my bottle of white because it’s too bright—and settle into the corner of the couch so I can answer emails and work on my Pinterest board. My shift at the Town Pub doesn’t start until four tomorrow, so I don’t need to worry about getting up early.
I work through all my emails and create three different Pinterest boards, including one for a brand-new account. That email came in yesterday at six in the evening, and I figured it’s a good idea to get a head start, since this weekend is going to be busy. Especially since I’m supposed to go to Chicago to visit with my dad and Danielle. And I have a care package I’m sending with my dad for the next time he goes to see Bradley. He needs more books, and newspapers. The last time I spoke to him, he mentioned the prison soap isn’t great for his sensitive skin.
The sound of Aaron’s alarm pulls my attention away from the screen.
“Babe?” The bed frame creaks with his movement. It drives him nuts that he can’t figure out where that one creak is coming from.
I realize that the sun is coming up and I’ve been working all night. I close my laptop and place it carefully on the coffee table, trying not to make a lot of noise, and then pad across the floor. “Morning, sleepyhead.” I slip around the divider and find him lying on his stomach, sprawled across the mattress, hugging my pillow.
I slip under the covers and snuggle up next to him. “Why’re you up so early?” he mumbles into my neck.
“I had some stuff I wanted to take care of. Can I make you pancakes for breakfast?” I run my fingers through his hair.
He shakes his head.
“No? What about bacon and eggs, then?”
He shakes his head again, nose dragging along my neck, lips following. “I want you for breakfast.” He bites the edge of my jaw and pulls my mouth to his. He tastes like mint, likely because he always has those Listerine tabs handy so he doesn’t have to get out of bed and brush his teeth in the morning. “Open for me, please,” he murmurs against my lips.
I comply, and his tongue slips inside my mouth, stroking softly. His knee finds its way between my legs, and his hand roams over my curves.
“What is that?” he mumbles, still half-asleep, judging from the rasp in his voice and the lazy way he’s touching me.
“What’s what?” I drag my fingers down his stomach, over the ridges and solid planes of muscle.
“That taste in your mouth. You’re fruity?” He pulls back, blinking a few times.
“And you’re minty.” I pull his mouth back to mine and wrap my fingers around his length. That’s all it takes to distract him.
Afterward, I make coffee and pancakes for him. He pulls me down into his lap. “Aren’t you going to eat with me? Where are your pancakes?”
“I’ll eat later.” I try to get back up, but he wraps his arm around my waist.
“You need to eat, Teagan.” He stabs a butter-and-maple-syrup-drenched bite of pancake and brings it up to my mouth.
“I don’t really like pancakes.”
“Who doesn’t like pancakes? These are delicious. Just have one bite so you know how amazing they are.”
I give in, not wanting to start an unnecessary argument. Then I steal the fork from him and start cutting up the pancakes so I can feed him one piece at a time.
His gaze meets mine while he chews, and I look away so I can spear another piece. “That one’s for you.”
“It’s huge. I’ll have the next one.” I poke his lip and he eats it, albeit reluctantly. I use the side of the fork to cut a chunk off a large piece and pop it in my mouth. My stomach is off, probably because I pulled an all-nighter and accidentally polished off a bottle of wine while doing it.
He watches me as I chew. His brows pull together, and his thumb brushes along the hollow under my eye. “You look tired. How much sleep did you get last night?”
“I can have a nap after you leave for work.” I feed him another bite, and he glances over his shoulder, toward the couch, where my empty wineglass sits.
“Did you even sleep at all?”
I don’t want to lie to him. “I had a lot on my mind, and I forgot to take my medication because I was busy having orgasms. I’ll catch up tonight, and I’ll be fine.”
He exhales heavily, questions in his eyes.
“I told you I have insomnia sometimes, remember? It usually only lasts a few days, and then I’m good again.” I’m off my routine, and I’ve needed to work extra hours while he’s asleep, which means I haven’t been taking my sleep meds every night, and I’ve needed more help staying awake than usual. But once I get the Stitches’ proposals under my belt and my emails under control again, I’ll be fine.
“I didn’t realize that means you don’t sleep at all.”
“I’ll be able to nap and then reset tonight.” I shift so I’m straddling his lap. “If you want to help, you can tire me out before you leave for work.”
CHAPTER 21
CLOSE, BUT NOT TOO CLOSE
Aaron
The thing about spending a lot of time with one person is that they get to know your habits, and you get to know theirs.
Devon used to have this terrible tell when we would play cards. Every time he had a good hand, he would get this look on his face. It was how I always knew when to fold. He also used to snap his fingers when he was nervous. It amped up when he first started dating Lydia. Every time they had a date, he’d sit on the couch and snap his fingers until it was time to leave. It drove me up the wall. I’d give just about anything to have him sit beside me and snap his freaking fingers again.
I’m guessing it’s the same with most relationships. Things that don’t bug people in the beginning can turn grating. Quirks that are cute in the beginning can sometimes become annoying. From what I’ve witnessed, it’s often a sign that the relationship is going south. I’ve seen it happen enough times with my friends to get a gauge on how relationships work, even if I haven’t spent much time on my own.
With Teagan, it’s different. Her patterns and the things she does tell me something about how she’s feeling. Or what she’s avoiding. Like how she rolls up on the balls of her feet when she’s excited, as though there are springs under her, ready to launch her into the sky.
At first, I didn’t think much about the insomnia, maybe because I don’t typically have problems sleeping. Except after Devon died. For a while I had constant nightmares. I used to dream that I could see him lying in the snow, making snow angels—something he loved to do even at the age of twenty-one—and I’d watch this wall moving toward him. I’d be stuck in the chalet, unable to open the sliding glass door, screaming his name, but he couldn’t hear me. And that wall of frozen air would sweep over him. He’d stop making snow angels, his smile fixed in place, arms outstretched, eyes wide and unseeing.