Page 67 of The Proposal Pact
I’m still in the middle of telling her why I prefer a notebook over Post-it notes at work when a soft mumble reaches my ears. I glance to the side and feel the corners of my mouth tug up.
Sophie is dead asleep, her small frame huddled over on her side of the couch, her hands tucked under her head. Those sweet lips parted, and I stifle a laugh when another bout of soft rambling comes out of them.
Jesus Christ, I rub my face trying to dislodge the smile I’m now spotting. Even in her sleep, the woman can’t shut up.
Silently, and careful not to wake this question monster, I get up, pulling my phone out to call the station and make sure everything is going fine without me, but just as I do a soft whine leaves herthroat, and the foot that was closes to me extends as if looking for something. Or someone.
I stand there, my head tilted as I regard my fake wife who keeps shifting around, dislodging from her comfortable spot. Is she looking for me?
Something lights up and sends a warmth through my cold heart. I set the phone down on the coffee table and lift one of the blankets off the floor, covering her and hope she’ll go back to sleep, but that foot is still searching around.
Why would she be looking for me? What the fuck is wrong with my sick imagination.
Don’t do it, Callum. Don’t you fucking do it.
I curse under my breath and slide back into my spot. Almost immediately, her small foot connects with my thigh, pressing into the tight muscles and her restlessness seizes.
She even lets out a soft humph, as if to say “Finally” and burrows her foot under my leg.
I sit there, not moving a muscle in fear of waking her up but Sophie looks so peaceful, so content and safe, and the egotistical part of me, the one I thought had died a long time ago, wants to revel in the notion that I might be the reason she feels like that.
Fuck…that warmth in my chest expands, spreading further and seeping into every blood vessel, loosening my own stiffness. I know I shouldn’t let it. I know I need to get away, put up my barriers butherwarmth has claimed me.
And the last thought I have before sleep claims me is,my wife will be my undoing.
“Oh fuck.”
My eyes pop open as I draw a startled breath at a hushed curse. “Sophie?” I whisper, my voice hoarse as I try to see her in the evening light. The sun must’ve set while we slept.
“Clover!” There’s panic in her voice and my body is off the couch instantly.
“What? What is it, Sophie? Are you okay?” My eyes finally focus well-enough to see her frantic face expression as she searches for something all over the living room.
My instincts take over and I’m at her side that same second, halting her movement as I search for what’s happened.
“No, I’m so not okay!” She shrieks. “We missed a whole first period already! And now I can’t find the damn remote!” Sophie uses my stupefaction as a chance to slip out of my hold and resume her search.
Period…what in the world does she mean?
Wait a minute…
“Hockey.” I deadpan. “I thought you were dying, or something along the lines, and this is about missing some game?”
Sophie stops her search and slowly turns my way, those brown eyes narrowed into slits. “Dear husband, I suggest you never call hockey ‘some game’ or else this will be a very short marriage.”
“And I suggest you stop scaring me like that unless you want to become a widow just a day into it. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
She bends down, searching underneath the couch. “Do you have life insurance?” she asks without looking up.
“Yeah, why?”
“Then widow sounds good.”
“Jesus Christ.” I pinch the bridge of my nose as she giggles.
“Relax, I’m just joking. And I thought you were supposed to be all tough with what being in the Navy and now a Sheriff?”
“I am tough.” I puff out my chest like a dumbass.
