Page 94 of Unmatched

He squeezes my shoulder. “Then let’s do it.”

I turn in his arms, and our lips come together, softly, sweetly, hopefully. For the first time, maybe in our whole marriage, rather than acting like adversaries when we touch, it just feels...intimate.

“I should probably shower before I get on a plane,” he says, indicating the salty sheen of sweat now dry on his skin. “I forgot what it’s like to run in eighty percent humidity.”

Reluctantly, I let go of him and nod, taking a step toward the bedroom. “I’m going to pack—um, but maybe I’ll put the rabbit in a checked bag.”

“Wait.” He seizes my hand, and when I look back, there’s fire in his eyes. “Don’t pack it just yet.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Lydia’s head stirs on her pillow. Her phone is ringing for the second time on the bedside table, and I lie next to her, waiting to see what she’ll do. I’ve been awake for a while, but haven’t gotten out of bed yet. I wanted to see if she woke on her own. And what might happen after that. It’s the first Saturday in longer than I can remember that she hasn’t set an alarm. I’ve never felt invited to just linger like this before. But for the first time, that’s exactly what I want to do.

Or it was until her phone rang.

Reflexively, her hand darts out of the covers, and she answers.

“Scarlet?” her voice is groggy and sleep-laden. “What’s going on?”

I roll my eyes. We returned to Denver ten days ago to find Scarlet begging for her job back. Something about making up with her boyfriend and not leaving her cat. I thought Lydia should tell her to go brush up her résumé. She is a constant source of drama. Instead, she consulted Henry, gave her a raise, and made her a manager.

I climb out of bed—to get us both coffee, I tell myself—keeping my back to her as I abandon the sheets and resignedly pull on underwear. I shuffle slowly down the hall, but I’m still listening.

“It actually caught fire?” Lydia’s voice rises with concern.

My shoulders slump. Heartthrob jumps up from his bed, following me toward the kitchen as soon as he realizes I’m going in the direction of breakfast. I switch on the coffeepot, stir up his food, then step out onto our little patio while he eats. It’s gorgeous out. Still cool because it’s early, but the birds are singing, flowers are coming up everywhere, and even the trees have started leafing out. I’m reluctant to go back in. I start itching to go for a run.

Heartthrob’s face appears at the door, and I let him out to do his thing, making my way back in when I smell the fresh-brewed coffee. I pull a couple of mugs from the cabinet and strain to listen. I can hear Lydia thumping around in our room, probably rushing to get dressed.

She blusters into the kitchen behind me as I pour the coffee, and I wonder vaguely if I should’ve put hers in a travel mug. I’m trying hard to accept the choice she’s made, so I just focus on what I’m doing.

“Yes,” she says, apparently still coaching Scarlet over the phone. “Well, if that didn’t work, you could try removing the filter and letting it cool for a while first.”

I glance at the clock, gritting my teeth. Scarlet has barely been at work an hour and she’s already managed to come up with some emergency. Heartthrob whines at the door, and I sip my coffee, laying out my jogging route in my head as Lydia lets him in.

“Okay, but this is why I gave you a raise,” she says in a different tone. “You’re the manager. You know what to do. You can handle this.”

Wait. What?

I turn, forgetting my running plans as my eyes land on her. The phone is to her ear, but she isn’t dressed, ready to grab her keys and head out the door like I expected. Quite the opposite. She stands in front of me in her robe, hair down, keenly eyeing my coffee.

“Great. I’m glad you spoke with Dave. That was exactly the right thing to do. If what he suggests doesn’t work, then we’ll have him take it for repair.” Her voice is calm, authoritative, as I hand her a steaming mug. “You’ve got this, Scar. I know it isn’t ideal, but I have faith in you.”

Lydia lowers herself to a chair and takes a sip. The robe parts when she crosses her legs, revealing such an expanse of her smooth, bare legs that I suspect she might not have any clothes on underneath.

My mouth goes dry.

“Okay. Keep me posted,” she says, and then she ends the call and looks up at me.

I clear my throat, still trying to catch up to what’s happening. Or maybe what isn’t happening. I know what to expect when Lydia pulls away and throws herself into work. I’m not as sure what to do now.

“That old stand dryer is having electrical problems,” she huffs.

I had guessed that was the issue. I know exactly which one she means. There are three stand dryers at Ooh La Pooch—like a tall hair dryer on wheels—used mostly to fluff up and straighten dog fur. But that one was bought secondhand when she opened the shop and has always had issues.

“Do you want me to go in and look at it?” I offer, letting my gaze drift up her bare legs, my imagination dipping beneath the edge of her robe.

She shakes her head. “Scarlet’s got it. If it keeps having problems, we’ll have Dave take a look on Tuesday.”

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