Page 64 of Best Laid Plans

I wrapped myself in a robe and walked into the bedroom. I hadn't paid attention to it before, but it was a sanctuary of comfort, that was the only way to describe it. There was a coziness to it. The king-sized bed was draped in soft linens and a beautiful handmade quilt that was all rust and green, probably matching the colors of the forest beyond. A vintage dresser and a couple of reading chairs completed the space, while large windows probably let in plenty of natural light during the day, offering stunning views of the mountains.

Anson had left me a T-shirt and drawstring shorts. They were his. I felt comforted putting them on. I couldn't wear my grimy bra and panties—in any case, they were going to be burned with my dress. My headlights were on in the T-shirt, but I figured that was unavoidable.

I stepped out of the bedroom and walked straight into an expansive open-concept living, dining, and kitchen area with high, vaulted ceilings, and exposed wooden beams.

Anson was in the kitchen, making what smelled like tea.

The kitchen was fully equipped with modern appliances and a large farmhouse sink. Wooden cabinets and a butcher block countertop gave it a timeless appeal, while a small dining table by the window was a perfect spot for meals with a view. Beyond the living room, the moonlight showed me a wide and large porch.

"How are you feeling?" Anson asked.

I shrugged. "I'll be okay."

"But you're not okay now?" He nodded at a bar stool by the kitchen island.

I sat, my feet bare, exhaustion claiming every cell in my body. "No," I admitted, "I'm not okay now."

There was no point in lying with false bravado. I was a basket case and inclined to cry at the drop of a hat. I was also feeling lethargic because of the constant weeping and the drop off in adrenaline.

"I'm making some chamomile tea."

I smiled. He remembered. Whenever he told me he was stressed about school, I would suggest chamomile to soothe him.

I looked around the cabin and was enchanted. The decor was a blend of rustic and contemporary elements, with handcrafted wooden furniture, nature-inspired artwork, and soft, inviting textiles. The overall ambiance was one of tranquility and retreat, a perfect escape from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. It was cozy, unlike the mansion, at least the one time I'd been there.

"This is a beautiful space," I told him.

"Thanks. It's…mine."

"I guessed that."

He shook his head. "No, this is mine and mine alone. I…don't bring anyone here."

He basically just told me that bringing me here was special. I ignored how it made me feel, because those feelings for a man who had so easily discard me in the past were dangerous.

"Mama decorated the mansion, and it's…fussy," he continued as he poured hot water into a teacup with a tea bag in it. "It's cold and artificial. This is mine. I got it so I could step away from Sentinel and Larue Homes, and just be me."

I loved him sharing this with me. Warning bells went off in my head, but I ignored them because it was so much like a dream to have him here with me, warm and friendly, not angry and accusatory.

"I like it. How many bedrooms?"

"Just one."

I bit my lower lip.

"I'll sleep on the couch. It's very comfortable."

"No, I will," I said immediately. "This is your place and…."

"Bailey has never been here. No woman has slept in that bed."

How did he know me so well? How dare he!

"I don't want to sleep in your bed, Anson." I lifted the tea bag, and stirred it into the water.

"I know. But you had a rough evening, and like hell am I going to let you sleep on the couch," he said gently, but I could hear the steel in his voice. He wasn't going to bend on this.

My mama didn't raise a fool, so I knew which hills were worth dying on, and this one wasn't it, especially since, secretly, I wanted to sleep in a bed that smelled like him.

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