Or, technically speaking, his upper thigh.
He looked at her hand. He was as surprised as if she’d dropped a scorpion on him rather than a big hint. Her hand, or any other part of her, was absolutely the last thing on his mind at the moment.
And then he slowly looked up at her. His expression must have shown unflattering incredulity.
Her hand flew off immediately.
Her own expression was almost comically amazed.
It was entirely possible no man had ever before turned that expression on Rebecca.
At least he knew now that Rebecca had an agenda within an agenda.
“I’ll take the couch. You can have the bed,” he told her curtly. “I’ll take you as far as San Francisco, but you can find your own way to Napa from there. I am not showing up to that wedding with you. That is final.”
They stared each other down.
“Fine,” she said, sounding surprisingly neutral.
He exhaled. “And I need some sleep. So if you could just...”
He wasn’t going to sleep. But he wanted to be alone while he stared at the ceiling. And simmered in confusing feelings.
Another little silence, which was Rebecca deciding whether or not she ought to negotiate.
“Okay then. Good night, Johnny,” she said finally.
And she rose like a queen and took herself off to the bathroom to do whatever things were required to preserve her beauty overnight.
He turned out the light and stretched out on the sofa.
Outside, he could hear the deer trotting past.
One of Britt’s favorite sounds.
“Britt, honey, will you come here a moment?”
Glenn’s voice sounded suspiciously sweet as he beckoned to her from behind the counter about ten minutes after she’d walked in the door of the Misty Cat.
She was only a few minutes late, but she was still rubbing her eyes, which were raw and red and sandy from staring at her ceiling all night instead of sleeping, wired by a sort of unspecific self-righteous fury and that actual physical gut ache that kept her thrashing until she was wound like a burrito in her sheets and Phillip finally stalked off in disgust to sleep elsewhere.
She’d tried to do up her hair in its usual barrette on the way in. From Glenn’s expression, she hadn’t quite got it right.
“You look like hell,” Glenn assessed tactfully.
“You silver-tongued devil. Now I know what Sherrie sees in you.”
He snorted. “Mr.McCord paid for his lunch yesterday but he didn’t eat it. I’d like you to take this to him. Now. Sherrie and me will manage the lunch rush. You can make up the hours some other day.”
He said this briskly and handed a white paper bag to her, fragrant with its load of burger and fries.
She couldn’t have been more shocked if Glenn had said to her, “Britt honey, I’d like you to take this here Christian and feed him to the lions.”
“But... but...”
Sherrie was hovering in the kitchen, pretending not to listen. The two of them were in cahoots, she was pretty positive.
“Yousawwhat happened yesterday,” Britt said. “He walked on out of here the moment he clapped eyes on her and he didn’t come back.”