Page 37 of Lessons in Heartbreak

“About five months, I think. They left eight weeks ago.”

After he finished perusing the room, his eyes shifted back to me. I felt naked, and tugging ineffectually on the hem of the sweater didn’t help, because then my sleep T-shirt was exposed. He noticed, of course, his sharp golden eyes resting on the faded words underneath when the cardigan fell open.

Run like Mr. Collins is proposing.

“I don’t get it,” he said, gesturing to the shirt.

“Pride and Prejudicejoke,” I explained, my cheeks likely a bright, candy-apple red because my legs were bare, my hair was a disaster after disjointed dreams featuring the King twins in various stages of undress, and I wasn’t wearing a bra. Not that he’d be able to notice. That was the beautiful thing about a B cup. Still, I crossed my arms tightly across my chest just in case. “Why are you here, Griffin? The sun’s barely out.”

“I need to look at your closet. I’m doing a clothing inventory.”

The words came out of his mouth clearly enough, but I stared at him for what felt like a solid minute before I started laughing. He didn’t find it quite as funny, and when I didn’t stow the laughter quickly enough, he gave Bruiser a quick scratch on the head and started down the hallway.

“Hey,” I called out. “You can’t just wander around my house.”

He ducked his head into the guest room, which I’d turned into a reading room because no one ever visited me. “Treadmill in the library, eh?”

“Yeah, um, I try to walk a couple miles every day, and I hate being cold, so in the winter I use that.”

Griffin made a humming noise. “Didn’t peg you for a runner.”

“I’m not a runner,” I said patiently. “I said Iwalkevery day. You have terrible listening skills.”

After a quick peek into the only bathroom in the house—which I’d recently repainted a soft, soothing bluish gray—he glanced over his shoulder. “Pretty color,” he said.

“Oh. Thank you.”

“Reminds me of your eyes.” Then he brushed past me, ignoring the fact that my mouth had fallen open. No one had ever told me my eyes were pretty before.

Gray never seemed all that exciting to me. When I was young, I longed for green eyes or blue eyes or a deep chocolaty brown. Something rich and decadent and beautiful.

Also three words no one would ever use to describe me.

Wrenching a hand through my hair, I snagged a ponytail holder from the bathroom counter and attempted to wrangle the bird’s nestinto submission while I stared at the broad expanse of Griffin’s back. He’d set his hands on his hips while he stared into my bedroom.

“God, it’s like a tomb in here,” he said, striding in and pulling open the light-blocking curtains.

“I like a dark room for sleeping.” Defensiveness had my voice a little short, and it did nothing except make him smile. “It’s important for your health to get good sleep every night.”

“Hmmm.” He glanced over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. “What time do you go to bed every night, birdy?”

“Nine thirty,” I told him. “Ten at the latest.”

He grinned. “Me too.”

“Yeah right.”

“During the season, I have to,” he explained, idly scratching his stomach over the expensive-looking cotton of his shirt. “Need my beauty sleep as much as the next person.”

Before he wandered over to the closet, he eyed the mess of blankets on my queen-size bed with a slight grin. “You’re a violent sleeper, aren’t you?”

“You’ll have to ask Bruiser,” I said, tugging the blankets up over the pillows and smoothing them out. The dog was sitting in between us, his ears perked high at the sound of his name. “He’s never complained before, though.”

“No, I expect he wouldn’t,” Griffin said distractedly, flipping through the matching hangers. “You own a shocking amount of black and white, young lady.”

My chin rose an inch. “They’re timeless.”

After pulling out one of my many pencil skirts, he tilted his head. “You have six of these.”

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