Page 73 of Fire and Icing

Well, that and the fact that he’s in the same bed. We might be separated by two feet of down and stuffing, but I’m acutely aware of him. How am I supposed to sleep?

“Why don’t I sing you to sleep?”

“Sing me to sleep?”

“Give it a try,” he suggests.

I snuggle down into my side of the bed, and Dustin starts singing softly. His voice is sweet, melodic, and soothing. I inhale and blow my breath out in an attempt to release my nerves. My eyelids start to feel heavier the longer he sings.

Dustin keeps singing … and I feel myself drifting.

When I wake, I’m warm. So warm. And cozy. I nestle into the bed. It’s actually hot in here. My eyes pop open and I scream. I was curled up against Dustin, his arm wrapped around me and my body tucked in against his. I shove myself backward, away from him. Dustin wakes to my shriek of surprise and all my flailing around to disentangle myself. He jumps up, tripping on the sheet wrapped around his leg. He falls forward, but catches himself. He’s hopping around trying to free himself from the sheet.

As soon as he’s loose, he starts running back and forth from the head of the bed to the foot and back, shouting, “Fire! Where? Where’s the fire?”

He must stub his toe or shin in the dark because he shouts, “Ouch! Oh, man!”

I’m laughing—hard. “No … fire!” I say between laughs. “You’re here in the estate. For the contest.”

“The contest?” He pauses. “Oh … yeah.”

Dustin rubs his hand along the back of his neck. “Right. No fire. Just you.”

“Are you okay?” I ask, still laughing lightly.

“I’m fine. I nicked the edge of the bed frame with my big toe. Did you scream?”

“I … uh … we … uh … the pillows must have slipped off the bed.”

Dustin looks around. The space between us has one pillow remaining down by our feet.

I was snuggled up in his arms. He may not remember. I doubt I’ll ever forget. He was warm. Strong. Comforting. And he smells so good.

“I didn’t mean to roll over,” he says, grabbing a pillow off the floor and setting it back in its place between us. “I hope I didn’t crowd you.”

“I think the crowding may have been mutual.”

He stops picking up pillows and gazes at me.

“I mean, we both participated … and we ended up … touching,” I clarify.

“Touching.” He sets the pillow in his hand on the bed, but not in the middle. “Oh, man. Did I cuddle?”

He says it as if he trespassed on government property.

“You cuddled-ish. Sort of. You’re a big guy, Dustin, and this bed’s not made for two adults and a pillow fort. Especially not when one of them is built like …” I wave in his direction,sweeping my hand from his head to his toes. “It happens.” I want to crawl under the covers and never come out. Maybe there’s a secret tunnel under the bed that I can just shimmy into and slither away.

Was Dustin snuggling?

A little.

Was I wrapped around him like a baby koala?

That would be a yes.

He might have been the last living eucalyptus tree on earth with the way I was clinging to him.

We can’t help what our subconscious minds lead us to do.

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