He must mean what he’s saying. His mother left the room, so he isn’t performing for her. And as I process the sincerity of his words, I realize I probably feel the same.
“You’re right,” I say, and my eyelids shutter. “If I were snowed in a cabin somewhere, or trapped in a turret, or marooned on an island, and I could only choose one other person to be with me … I’d pick you. Not Sayla.”
The pools of his eyes find mine. So dark, deep, and honest. “You’d really choose me?”
My pulse whooshes in my ears. “Truly.”
A faint sound comes from the other side of the wall. Like a scraping of shoe or … a sweep of silk.
Bridger stills. Then he mouths, “My mother?”
I pitch my shoulders up. “Maybe,” I mouth back.
We wait for a full minute, silent and motionless, giving Margaret plenty of time to retreat. When the grandfather clock chimes in the hallway, Bridger leans over to whisper directly into my ear.
“If she heard any of that, what we said only helps our cause.”
“Absolutely,” I agree.
“So good job, wife.” His breath is warm, and my insides melt a little.
“Good job, husband.”
The thing is, neither one of us had any idea she was listening.
And we said it anyway.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Bridger
ME
Not sure if Loren gave Sayla the heads-up yet, but my mom’s here.
DEX
Where?
ME
Here. Harvest Hollow. Staying in our house.
DEX
Dude.
ME
I know.
DEX
How can I help? Need me to squire her around town? Dazzle her with my charm? Talk Wall Street with her? Duct tape her and stow her on a train back to New York?
ME
Thanks, but I’m already on squire duty. Taking her shopping. The rest is unnecessary. For now.