Page 44 of Revved up & Ready

“Sure,” she says, but there’s a waver in her voice.

When I turn around, she’s curled back into her protective ball.

“You want to come with?” I ask.

“No, I’m fine.” She shakes her head, obviously scared.

“Alright, I won’t make you,” I say, walking toward the kitchen.

“Wait!” she yells out, and I’m back in her room in an instant. She rushes to explain, “They’re on your nightstand. I forgot I put them there. I hope that’s okay—that I went in there. I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t—”

“All good, sunshine,” I say, leaving the room again. I raise my voice as I walk farther down the hall. “You’re welcome in my room anytime.” I flip on my light switch. “Especially if you’re bringing treats.” Sitting on my nightstand are two cookies on a plate I recognize as one of her favorites—blue with daisies and a cursiveSin the center. “Are you sure these cookies aren’t perfect?” I call out, picking up the plate. Underneath, there’s a note in the same neat handwriting she uses for her list.

Promise I’ll always share my cookies. – S

I lift the plate to my nose as I make my way back to her.“They smell perfect. They look perfect. They were made by you—” I stop myself from sayingyou’reperfectas I enter her room again.

She’s shifted into the space I left open, making it easier for me to join her on the bed. “They’re not perfect,” she sighs.

“Let’s taste them to be sure,” I say, sliding next to her.

Sadie leans her head into my shoulder, laughing. “Yes, please.” She takes the smaller of the two cookies and devours half of it in one bite.

Matching her enthusiasm, I take the other one.Holy shit.“Cross it off,” I say, mouth full of strawberry cream cheese perfection.

“No, it doesn’t count,” she protests.

“Why the hell not?” I ask.

“Because this is someone else’s recipe,” she says, her hand covering her mouth as she takes another bite. “I tweaked it, but I didn’t come up with it from scratch.”

“The list didn’t say you had to invent the recipe,” I remind her.

“It’simplied,” she laughs, leaning into my shoulder again, finally allowing herself to relax there.

I’m caught up in the soft curves of her face, the pout of her lips, the sparkle in her eyes as they flutter closed.If I don’t move, will she fall asleep on me like this?I want to reach out—run my fingers through her hair, cup her cheek, pull her closer. But I can’t stop thinking abouthave a good boyfriend—and how it hasn’t been crossed off. It’s a sharp reminder that I’mnotgetting to her.

Carefully, I nudge her off my shoulder and onto her pillow, then stand.

She blinks at me, still dazed. “I guess we should sleep, huh?”

“Yeah, I’ve got to be sharp for practice tomorrow,” I say, though I don’t have to be there until noon.

Pulling her knees up to her chest, she mutters, “Sure, yeah, me too. I mean—not for practice. I’m not racing motorcycles tomorrow. You know that—I have work.”

There’s an uncomfortable twist in my gut as she stumbles over her words. She’s probably still scared and doesn’t want to be alone. It doesn’t feel right to leave her, but I can’t invite myself into her bed.

Resting my forearms on the doorframe, I ask, “Was thinking I’d sleep with my door open tonight. Would that be okay with you?”

“Uh, sure.” Her brows furrow.

“And I could leave your door open too,” I add, drumming my fingers on the wood. “For airflow,” I explain.

It’s March in Palm Springs, so the days are warm but the nights are cool. All the windows are closed, and airflow isn’t really a concern, but making sure she doesn’t feel alone is.

After a few seconds, she catches my meaning and smiles. “Yeah, airflow. That’s a good idea.”

Her bedroom is at the corner of the L-shaped hallway, and my room is at the end of the other side. Our doors open toward each other. We can talk with our doors open, even if our bathrooms are between us.

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