Page 106 of If All Else Sails
That would be my personal choice too. Not the show winner, but the house I’d pick forme. His reasons are almost the exact same as mine, but I don’t say it.
“But you don’t think they’ll pick that one?” I ask. “Ticktock, Wyatt.”
He turns to me, and not for the first time, the intensity of him knocks my pulse off course. The dark blond hair. The piercing gray eyes. That sharp jaw—all on top of broad, muscled shoulders straining against the sleeves of his T-shirt.
“They’ll choose the new build with no personality.”
I can’t hold back my grin. Even if his guess is the same one I would have bet on. Which leaves me with option three.
“I’ll say...the high-rise condo.”
A risky choice, since the couple clearly said they wanted a house. But I can just tell they’re the impatient types. They don’t want to wait on renovations, and they certainly aren’t going to do it themselves. Plus, the views from the tenth floor were hard to beat, and there’s a doorman.
“Is that really your best guess?” Wyatt asks, studying me.
I grin. “No,” I confess. “I would have gone with your pick.”
Which is exactly what the couple chooses. I groan, and Wyatt sits up straighter in bed, adjusting the pillows behind his back.
“Double or nothing?” he asks, and I laugh. “Double or nothing.”
In the end, we watch three shows and I owe Wyatt three truths. He isshockinglygood for a man who swears he’s never turned on HGTV before.
“No fair,” I grumble, turning off the TV before he can suggest we watch another episode.
“Hey,” he protests, grabbing for the remote.
I toss it toward the door and it clatters against the baseboards,scaring Jib awake. She makes three turns in her chair before groaning and going back to sleep.
“You’re not allowed to be good at everything,” I say.
“I’m not good at everything,” he grumbles.
“True. You’re very bad at some things. But you’re good at too many things.”
“I’m afraid to ask what I’m bad at,” Wyatt says. “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”
“Yep. But we can save that for another night. You’ve got three truths. So, go ahead. Ask about my deepest, darkest secrets. I’m an open book.”
I settle in, punching down my pillows as I turn fully on my side and prop up my head with my hands. Wyatt mirrors my position, then twists back and clicks off his lamp, which was the only light in the room. Now the glow of the moon seeps like mist through the curtains, blanketing us in soft blue-grays.
My heart immediately picks up the pace. I’d gotten used to being in this room with Wyatt, being in this bed with him. Now, suddenly, things feel more intimate.
“Are you going to sleep?” I ask, a little confused. “What about our truths?”
“Telling the truth is easier in the dark, don’t you think?”
I want to hug him. Not at this moment, because that would be the exact thing I don’t need right now, but I appreciate the thoughtfulness. Even if I am an open book, there’s something about Wyatt having the power of three questions.
“Thank you. Considering you’re getting three whole truths out of me.”
“I’ll let you have one to start with.”
“A pity truth?”
“You don’t want it?”
“Oh, I’ll happily take my pity truth with zero qualms.” I jumpin before he can change his mind or before I rethink my question. “Do you think you’ll go back to playing hockey this fall?”
