“Here,” I say, reaching for the stack of linens in her arms. “I’ll get it set up for you.”
It takes all of three seconds for her to explore the eighteen-foot abode before she’s seen everything and joins me at the bed. We work together in unnerving silence for the next few minutes until the job is done—until there’s norealreason for me to stay.
“I grabbed you a water from the house.” I incline my head toward the bottle on the counter as I squeeze past her in the tiny galley.
“Thanks.”
“Oh, and this.” I lift the backpack holding her shoes and wedding dress and set it on the banquette by the door.
She offers a weak nod and another “Thanks.”
This is it—I’m fresh out of excuses to make this last longer.
“Well…um…” I look aimlessly around the trailer, volleying between her, the bed, and the door. “It’s late, so I’ll let you get some rest.”
My feet drag. One step, then another. I almost turn around. Maybe she needs more blankets. I could show her how the generator works or give her my number in case she needs anything. But I talk myself out of it. The sun will rise in a few hours and it’ll all be over. I’ll be off to the airport, and she’ll return home to deal with the fallout of her failed wedding.
“Rowan?”
The sound of my name on her lips is a blast of cool air in the heat of summer. I swivel back, trying not to look too eager.
“You could stay,” she says. “I mean, if you want to.”
I’ve mastered a lot of sleeping hacks in the military but vertical slumber is not one of them. If I stay, we’re sharing the bed.
“Do youwantme to stay?” I ask cautiously.
Hannah gnaws on her lip. “Yes.”
Thank god!
“Okay.” I grin like an idiot down at my shoes as I toe them off.
“Wait!” she blurts out. “You’re single, right?”
Stunned, I stare at her, unblinking, for long seconds before a wheezing, husky laugh erupts from my chest. Does she really think I’d spend an entire night with her—the dressing room, the dance at the bar, this camper—if I was committed to someone else?
Her expression quickly pinches into a wince like she just played back her own words. “Dumb question.”
“Yeah, Hannah. Dumb question.”
“To clarify, I’m not asking because I wanna…like, have sex with you.” She slaps a hand to her mouth with a curse. I lift a brow. “Not that I’m not attracted to you, because”—she twirls a hand in my general direction—“you’re…you, obviously.”
I cross my arms. “I am me. And you’re”—I mimic her gesture—“you.”
“Right!” she shouts, like I’m not standing two feet in front of her. Then she shoots me a…finger gun? “You’re you and I’m me.”
“We’ve established that.”
I get the impression she’d start this conversation over if she could, that maybe she wishes a sinkhole would open beneath her feet. But does she stop talking? Nope.
“Yes, and becauseyoudon’t live here andIhad a fiancé up until eight hours ago, we probably shouldn’t?—”
“Have sex,” I finish.
“Exactly.”
“Yeah, I mean, honestly, sex with you sounds like a terrible idea.” My face breaks in a wry smile.