Page 67 of More Than a Helping Hand

I glance down at her long T-shirt.

She tugs at the hem. “Didn’t you bring sweatpants or athletic shorts?”

“Good idea. I can wear those. Normally, I just wear?—”

She shoves me toward the bathroom. “Go shower.”

I close the door, then yank it back open. “I don’t typically wear a shirt. Is that a problem for you?”

“I’ll deal.”

“Good.” I take a quick peek at her legs. “I like your nightshirt.”

She gives the hem another tug. “I would’ve chosen differently if I’d known how things would be.”

Laughing, I close the door and turn on the shower. In the hot tub, we talked about our pasts. I shared stories of ways that I got help. She talked about how she always felt like the one who didn’t quite fit in with her perfect family.

And now we’re joking, but I know she’s nervous about sharing the bed.

After a quick shower, I pull on athletic shorts before walking out.

Primrose is tucked under the covers. I guess free peeks at her legs aren’t happening anymore tonight.

I walk to my bag and dig out a pair of socks. One of my quirks—something very few people know about me—is that I can’t sleep when sheets are brushing my feet. So I always wear socks to bed. It looks a bit more ridiculous when I sleep in boxers. But since I’m always sleeping alone, no one complains.

After yanking the socks on, I climb into bed.

She’s on her side, watching me. “Are you cold?”

“Nope. You? Do I need to adjust the thermostat?”

Her head shakes against the pillow. “I’m good. Why did you put socks on?”

“I always sleep with socks on.” I lie on my side, facing her. “It’s weird, but the sheets tickle my feet, and then I can’t sleep.”

There’s mischief in her grin. “I’m learning so much about you tonight.”

“And now you think I’m weird, right? When we get home, you’ll avoid talking to me, and we’ll have to pretend that we were only ever just friends.”

She rolls her eyes. “Because of socks? Give me a little credit. It is funny though.”

“You aren’t wrong about that.” I flop onto my back and stretch out my arm. “You can cuddle closer if you want. I won’t bite… or anything else.”

After a second of hesitation, she snuggles beside me and rests her head on my chest.

This feels like heaven. And I’d be a happy man if every night for the rest of my life ended with her cuddled against me. But I don’t say that because I’m letting her set the pace, and telling her that I love her might send her running.

We’re too close to the ocean to risk that.

* * *

In the morning,when I feel the bed shift, I stay still and watch as Primrose tiptoes across the room and digs clothes out of her suitcase. Her hair is mussed. And she’s beautiful.

She must feel me staring because she tugs at the hem of her T-shirt, so I whisper, “Good morning.”

“Sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t be. I’ll jump up and get dressed so that we can get down to the pier.”

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